There are no ducks at the lake this morning. No swans or geese, either. So really, I’m just watching the water.
It’s not doing very much.
That’s what I wrote in my notebook.
I think my brother is worried about me. He keeps telling me that he thinks I’m not well, and that I should see a doctor. But I’m fine. I’m not ill at all.
There are water spiders skating about on the surface. When they move fast, they create ripples that spread out across the water.
Every slight action has a consequence. Trying to go through life without leaving a mark is like trying to walk on wet sand without leaving a footprint.
I look up. There’s a man on the bench on the other side of the lake. He’s also watching the water. I wonder why he’s there. How long has he been there?
We are surrounded by strangers. There are people everywhere. Every moment when a stranger crosses your line of sight, you are seeing a still from someone else’s movie. A brief glimpse of a life every bit as interesting and detailed as your own. And the chances are that you will never see them again.
The man is standing up, starting to leave. He sees me looking, waves cheerfully. I wave back. I can feel myself blushing. I turn back to my notebook. Out the corner of my eye, I see him walking away.
There are billions of people in the world, and each of them has a story to tell. Yet nobody ever hears any story in full, except for the story of themselves.
It’s starting to rain. I can feel the drops on my face. I can see the ripples on the water where the raindrops fall.
I put the notebook away at that point. It was getting wet.