Micro Narrative. On Freedom: Before 8AM On a Sunday.

One of those nights where you're up, like, every 1.5 hours. Last night's was my 2nd of these in-a-row. So, round 7AM, I took my 1st jog since ... probably this guy. Funny how Cobbs Hill is becoming my muse... So. Are we more free than birds? ... 

Jeremy's Paintings.
Taken from Google Images.

You tell me.

            

.Before 8AM On a Sunday.

            Abrasively. A sewer lid spins, and the white hatchback continues over 490. Trees languorous over the horizon, like mountains, blue, if this was a snow globe and our perspective, skewed. Even the sun’s rays seem warped, if not by fog lifting from the earth, then from smog, gaining pace as steel and wheels begin to number the streets.

            Crossing 490 at Culver feels seamless, effortless, relaxing, when it precedes 8AM on a Sunday. Even without an approving nod from the milky Walk Man, jogging—or walking—between those bleach lines has zero pretense. Unawareness faked, of pretending not to know. Perhaps because the streets go unattached. Belonging neither the cars nor the bikes, nor to my feet as they pound black cement. Not even to the morning doves that coo far above or squirrels that scurry down below. There’s something freed about the naked street, untethered even to the lines by which it’s defined.

            Before 8AM on a Sunday, as you half-jog part-walk to Cobbs Hill Reservoir, no one stares at you. Whisking past the early risers who begin unloading yesterday’s haul from flat backs and garages elicits nothing but mute. Nodding hello to fellow pedestrians becomes genuine. Not forced, not ignored, and certainly not uncertain. Perhaps an acknowledgement of our early morning efforts though, more, an embodiment of man’s freedom to be.

            Do you ever wonder if we are free? More, even, than the crow that caws. Who, yes, chooses any plane on which to move, but always only two-dimensional. Where is the joint to cue circles with his wing? Or to dip into the sea and float and swim and flip? Are we more free than the bird that flies?

            Or are we more free only before everyone awakens to strip us until it dies.

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Happy Sunday

loves.

♥