Killing Time

I found this in my archives:

3.20 in the University yard. I am cutting a class against my will: I could find neither my colleagues, nor the proffesor. So now I have time to kill, just like the other students in the yard. I sit lazily in the warm afternoon sun and look at the bright tiny insects that fill the air this gentle autumn day. I enjoy every moment and I take in every split second, as I know this is one of the last warm and beautiful days of the year. I feel my face and hair sofly caressed by the slanting rays. The air is dotted by spots of light, graceful stars of the day, the tiny insects that fill the space, here, and there, and farther away. I feel engulfed and trapped in the span of Here and Now: no flash-backs, no memories, no regrets. No hopes, no dreams, no plans. No thoughts. Just the calm and peace that surroud me.

A girl presently comes up and asks permission to sit on my bench. Permission granted. A girl that I don't know sits now by my side, reading a book. After a while, her phone rings. "Yes?" She listens for a moment, then: "Mao, are you guys staying there a while? I don't think I'll be there soon. I might have a lecture from 4 o'clock, but I'm not sure. We might not find a room that is big enough for us all." A gust of wind tears yellow leaves off the branches. I watch them float and swirl in the air. "Yes, I'll let you know if I'm coming. All right, bye!" A guy dressed in black, sitting on the bench in front of me blows his nose. The birds are singing in the trees above our heads. The wind blows softly in the amber light that brought many of us out in the yard today. The people sit on benches or on the grass, alone or in groups of two or three, talking or reading, but everyone's activities seem to be dissolved, diluted. The conversations are carried in rather low voices, and seem to lack continuity. Those who are reading cannot concentrate on the pages. We all are a little bit less ourselves today.

Sunday 4 February 2007