Writing - Colonial House Inn, NYC

Writing - Colonial House Inn, NYC

This morning I sat with my breakfast and watched people, walking on the sidewalk, opening and closing their umbrellas, some with a hurried look on their face, some alone and some with others.  

I turned my gaze towards the room to look at fellow guests, some eating breakfast, a few conversations, some reading, some silent, within the background noise of the television.  I wondered in that moment, what would it be like if I wrote a story, sitting by this window, and looked at the world inside and outside of me.  Instead of traveling physically to places, what if sat by a window and wrote a story watching the faces of people passing by.  Time would pass, new faces will come along, some old ones will look new, and the passage of time will be picked up in the changing of the landscape. The  trees will change the color of the leaves, falling leaves will be drifting by (song plays in my head), rain will turn to freezing and then to flakes.  The softness of falling snow, its accumulation in a blizzard, people bundled up, shoulders hunching to keep warm.  Faces will change, hidden behind toques and ear muffs, scarves and boots, coats and jacket.  Layers of protection.  

Soon the weather will begin to change.  Faces emerge as layers shed.  Warmth of the sun rays will begin to reach into the hearts, bursting into smiles.  A lightness will begin to emerge.  Blossoms on the trees will decorate the paths, their fragrance and colors will fill the air.  The bare limbs will be adorned with leaves in turn the human limbs will begin to bare.  Babies will be walking, and walkers will be running.  Stroller pushers might become wheelchair pushers.

The continuous movement of life, I will see through my eyes, my filters, I will create a story with perceptions and create a reality, around those I observe.  Some will be fleeting comments and some in-depth reflections.   I will begin to emerge in each persons story.