Reflections from a Hotel Balcony...

What will I do from here? 

The question circled along with my finger around the edge of the railing. Cold steel. 11 stories up in middle of the city at dusk. 

In the air were sounds of cars going by. The quiet murmur of people. Bits of yelling. Laughter.

Lives unknown. 

Conversations of wind.

And what do they do? Geniuses? Freaks? Dreamers? Builders? Destroyers? The violence and love hidden away inside the small distant undefined lines that are the faces, costumes, people.

A strong wind came in, and I turned my neck left and right. And  that now familiar pain moved from the base of my neck down. Spread over my shoulder towards my elbow, and finally landing at  my left hand. 

What will I do from here? 

My eye caught a glimpse of orange. It flashed under a street light and fell into darkness. Than again under the next light. 

A woman? A hat maybe? She stopped for a moment under a third post.

Her dress white. She was small. Brunette. And that was as much as I could tell. She was another distant thing. 

A I say a thing, because I can know nothing at all of her. Her life is too big to fit in so small a frame. That I saw her and thought she was like summer. That she could be anything. Tells you nothing of who she really is. And as I wondered, it came to me. 

For her, I was a distant thing too.

11 stories up. A man. Small. On a balcony. A visitor no doubt... but a musician? a writer? for all she knew a doctor or politician? 

And she saw no pain in the shoulder. No questions of myself.

No strange thoughts that would keep me up till 4 am writing in a notebook. 

Melodies of dreams she could never know about. What do I seem to her? What would she call me? Her. Who could also be anything. A doctor. A dancer. A fortune teller. A politician. A business woman. She might be the one with an answer.

So I asked - What will I do from here?

For a moment more, she stood in the light. And from out of my building, two more ladies came out to the street. They waved to each other. Saying hello. Hugs. And off down the street. Moving from lamp to darkness to lamp along the sidewalk.

A strong wind came in. Carrying the sounds of cars, a siren, and the noise of people. Maybe an answer in there too. But I couldn't tell. I am too small a thing.


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mood (Pathetique) Sonata No. 8 Op. 13 II. Adagio cantabile: