Exchanged a few words with Chuck the mailman, and E. Sunglasses said “Good Morning” and I could just make out the faint contours of her eyes behind the dark lenses. Lately, on my walks, I too have been afraid to make eye contact with passing strangers. Recognition of the mystery that we touch each other when our eyes meet, the exchange of being, painful or pleasurable, always leaves a mark. The desire to respect others’ solitude in conflict with the need to acknowledge one another.
Alone with my thoughts on a very quiet knit this morning, I had a mental picture of a girl with fire coming out of her ears, smoke rising from the top of her head, and tiny firemen like the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels climbing on tiny ladders propped against her giant body, spraying water on the flames. Thus, it was strangely satisfying to see two fire trucks lumber silently by me as I walked away from the bench at the end of the knit.