Voices. How come you walk on the street without noticing the voices? The maternal consolation that follows the baby cries. The dancing branches with yellowing leaves. The hue of the city is fading. The autumn is joining us. The kids throwing stones at the lake. The mischievous girl stirring the water with a long stick, ignorant of the possible result of messing with the seemingly tamed swans.
The city is full of voices. Other than the turkish German coming from the vendors of the big street, other than the artificial voice reminding you to take the exit on the opposite side of the elevator in a U Bahn station. The city is full of other voices. Maybe only perceivable when you least expect them. The breeze, the sunlight (that is soon to vanish when the winter gets us), the rapidly spinning leave that almost resembles an insect or a ninja star. The voices are only perceivable when your mind goes blank. When your brain is no longer haunted by "I shouldn't have done this and that" "I should've done this and that" and "I still need to do this and that." With sleep deprivation and the ensuing caffeine overdose you start to perceive the voices. The cat sunbathing in the yard-- you can almost hear its whiskers mumbling an ode of the insolence. The warming sunlight rubbing against your back-- you hear your blood murmuring, reminding you of your next engagement-- "Chocolate. Chocolate. Or tea cake will be nice."
How come you walk on the street without noticing the voices? They are everywhere. Coming from the inside and the outside. You only need to stop and listen. Stop thinking and just listen.
