There’s a boy sitting on a bench in the middle of a public area. Sort of a garden. Sits on the right side on one of the two benches. Facing South, his hand blocked the light reach his writings. Yes, this is his writing. The sky is bright and blue with a little splotch of white. It smelled almost nothing. Almost. His bike ran through a horse shit several minutes ago, and the stench was there if you take a deep breath.

Not so far from where he is stationed, a pair of bus terminals facing one another. It is not a crowded route. A bus is scheduled to pass every half an hour. Although it’s called a bus terminal, the structure is rather unique but not fancy. Four V-beam supporting a steel roof… Apparently, that is not the terminals, a bus just passed through without any hesitation. Look closer and there is no indication of a bus station. The author just made a mistake in the observation as we speak. Those are small bridges for pedestrians. The common terminal usually enclosed by thick glasses on three sides and a roof slightly larger than the terminal area.

While writing this, a duck. Not the yellow one, a black duck is walking around and pecking the grass to find some food. Its beak and forehead are white. Well, it might not be a duck, but the bird can float in the water. It’s not a crow for sure. Its beak is pointy, however, contrasting Donald Duck’s wide beak.

Back to the author’s surroundings.

A red motorcycle passed through the main road slowly. Gracefully. Not long after, a pair of boys skateboarding and another friend of theirs using rollerblade using the same main road heading South. Three bicycles cruising on the other side of the road. The road is not that wide actually, just one and a half of the car lane. Looks like none of the cyclers know each other. This particular district area is spacey and perhaps, it is one of the favorite places for dogs. Several dogs have raced across the plain without any leash.

How about the trees? Well, the trees haven’t sprouted their leaves. It is all dark brown of trunks and branches. They are spaced consistently around four meters from each other.

Anyhow, no matter how many words were used to describe the place, it would not be enough to capture the complete spacetime moment which the current author inhabit (or the past by the time it’s written and read by you). Even pictures would not be enough.

So, why the author wrote those descriptions. Isn’t he being contradictory, then? Yes, he is. Oh, and there is no message or plot or takeaway in this writing. This is the end. Goodbye.

Photo by Amrit Sangar on Unsplash