Movement

Watch how people live their lives, moving in and out of the lifes of others, sometimes only touching briefly, sometimes leaving a deeper imprint. Sometimes even becoming entangled, causing a long, involved, parallel movement.

The department store clerk.
My kindergarten teacher.
My parents.
The person next to me on the tram.
My partner.
The bus driver.

Brief and not-so-brief encounters, people moving in and out of my life, I moving in and out of theirs.

Like the warp and weft of an elaborate tapestry.

Another take on Proust

I experienced a smell related memory today.

As I sat on the tram, on my way to work, a little old, very grey, lady sat down next to me. She is probably one of those little old ladies who constantly smoke. She was all grey; her coat was grey, her hair was grey, her skin was grey. Grey like smoke.

She smelt like smoke too. She was covered in the smell, the smell was so strong, it was like she had marinated in it for a very long time.

She reminded me of Denmark.

When I was little, I used to go with my family to Denmark for the holidays. We used to stay in small hotels and B&Bs. They were all brown (it was the late seventies/early eighties, after all) and smelt in a particular way. Of cigarettes and very pink Danish salami. The smell was very distinct.

The grey lady reminded me of that.