An evening in Kurgan
Again I find myself in the oh-so-familiar process of staring lazily out from a window. This time, it's from a second-storey windowsill in the main stairwell of our hostel in Kurgan, Russia.
My iPod blurs as I look out towards the quasi-busy street below. It's alive out there. Vehicles dance together in a never-ending stream as though they're all a part of some mechanical ballet. The last of the sun's rays are filtering through the leaves of some . . . tree. I'd prefer to name it, instead of giving it the simple all-encompassing label of 'tree', but my knowledge of different types of tree is limited to 'Christmas tree' and 'not a Christmas tree'. And this was definitely not a Christmas tree.
But anyway, there, scattered throughout this picture they're going about their day-to-day lives completely unaware to the beauty of it all are the town's inhabitants, the Russians. Inside this building are people repeating the scene outside, except these are people from Romania, Britain, Ukraine, and even a few Germans. I think my brain doesn't work. Why can I find beauty in the smallest of things; moments and actions that seem to be brushed aside and ignored by the rest of the world?
I wish my contacts weren't broken and I hadn't left my glasses at home. I'd be able to view this scene as other people could; if only they would. But no, they don't see any of it. They never open their eyes to the true perfectness of the simplest parts of our world.
Or maybe I'm just a freak. They're all far too busy living. I guess my musings are the cause for why I'm a self-proclaimed loser; and why my incessant losings have named me muser.
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8 Comments
'Course, I'm not saying that you're going to end up the Monet of the writing world. But you do have a prerequisite that lifts you above those who don't stop to look and appreciate - the ability to glance sideways and really observe, with or without 20:20. Your writing here has captured what you saw very well, conveyed it to me in a different world, and I have appreciated it.
However, Monet could name at least one more tree (#17 - The Poplar), and that possibly helped.
I don't know what to say!
Fast food joints make my belly happy :D
But no, in all seriousness, it'd be impressive to watch a bulldozer tearing through the tree line like a cavalryman battering into the enemy formation; man vs nature at its finest . . . and we're winning!
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