I have nothing to say. But even that sentence, I see, is saying something, which makes it untrue, or both true and untrue at the same time.
Yesterday, when I walked through the park, I saw a woman feeding squirrels. She said, when I stopped to watch, “What is it you want?” and I couldn’t determine whether she was talking to me or to the squirrel.
I walk a lot. This city is the city I will remember as the one I was living in when I first began to notice the physical effects of aging. And yet I am more or less fit. If I can say one thing about happiness, it isn’t this: observe and remember as many things as you can.
The woman with the squirrels, she was sitting on a bench. Her hair was so long that it covered her face when her face was turned toward the ground, which it was when I happened to pass by, and stop.
- Three Stories - February 11, 2013
- Why Write? #13: Edward Mullany - December 19, 2012
- Why Write? #12:Edward Mullany - May 21, 2012