A Timeless Sunday Morning

The house I live in is separated from the ocean by a road.  I have a big bay window facing the road and the ocean, and it’s where I have my meals.  I usually read while I eat, but I glance up every now and then and I see a miscellany of people passing every day.

This morning the world was quiet, the ocean restful.  Across the bay rocky hills rose up starkly against the pale blue African sky.   The air was clean, cool.   A flocks of birds skimmed across the water.

A young lanky black guy went loping past, moving as if his body was weightless.  He was utterly coordinated, his running effortless, and he looked as though he was a distance runner.  Didn’t have any shoes on though.  I wondered why, was it because he couldn’t afford them?  Surely no runner would choose to not wear running shoes on the road.  Well, whatever the reason, he didn’t let it detract from his purpose and direction and seamless pleasure.

He looked self-contained and  in synch with himself and his world, and he moved with an aura of timelessness.


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