Yes, the Springs needed you. Many a star was waiting
for your eyes only. A wave swelled toward you
out of the past, or as you walked by the open window
a violin inside surrendered itself
to pure passion. All that was your charge.
But were you strong enough? Weren’t you always distracted
by expectation, as though each such moment
presaged a beloved’s coming?
– Rainer Maria Rilke, The First Elegy
A little bit about me: on my 30-minute lunch break, depending on the state of my internal affairs, I am either doom-scrolling, reading a book, or writing in my notebook.
I was sitting on a bench looking down at my phone screen when an older lady in scrubs, who was pushing a vacant wheelchair, stopped to look at the sky. Or at least, I think that’s what transpired; I only took notice of her when she, with bright eyes and a wide smile, looked in my general vicinity while mouthing the words Look! The clouds are moving so fast!
I looked to my left and to my right. Because people don’t normally do things like this in southern California—the whole interacting wholesomely with a stranger thing. That only happens in fiction, or in the Midwest. But alas, as I scanned from left to right, it occurred to me that I was indeed the intended recipient of this random bid for connection. I removed my AirPods and smiled back.
We were both looking up now. Sandwiched between two red-brick buildings was a rectangular microcosm of the sky. And indeed, the clouds were moving more rapidly than I could ever remember, even since I was a wee lad. The strong winds and stormy sky reminded me of Fall days in Temecula, when I’d come home to crunchy Maple leaves, the rattle of my dad’s rake in the front yard, and the wafting aroma of pumpkin-scented candles from the living room table.
The woman and I didn’t exchange another word. When she had her fill, she pushed her wheelchair into the building on my left. And when the sliding doors closed behind her, I pulled out my notebook and began to write.
