Oct 2016
I hear many sounds early in the morning, the footsteps are my favourite, though. There is plenty a stride can tell you about a person. Always new people, and yet I look forward to the ones I know.
Day after day, the same people come and go like clockwork. There is a calm in the steps. Familiarity.
First, I hear the shuffling of an old man, walking with a purpose.
Starting off too fast, realizing too late, stopping abruptly. Shoes squeak, at the toes, to a stop.
Steel hitting the windowsill as he slams his mug down with defiance. He's made it through another night.
Next is the jangle of keys, striking the left leg. Each lumbering step forced. The steps of a man who doesn't want to be present and is readily willing to tell you so.
Anxiety fills the air, you can sense it. Thick and acrid. Accompanied by the scurrying footsteps of some one about to tattle. They falter a bit. Aware that she probably shouldn't say what she is about to, but the silver hair gets the best of her.
A few random feet I don't know, traffic can be heavy sometimes.
An angry heel strikes the ground, quickly followed by toes slapping the floor. The morning has won, she has lost. The sounds echo as she blows in, defeat trailing behind her. Already given up on anything positive for the day, her purse hits the entry way, her keys hit the desk then the floor, only souring her mood more. Huffing and puffing about how hard she's had it already. I just laugh and smile. I am not worried, her mood will progress.
More feet I don't know, but I will over time. Assuming they stay.
The last feet to arrive make very little sound, they don't have much to carry. Odd for such a precarious shamble. Though, it makes sense, I suppose. Although her pace is funny, there is a certainty in it. Bound and determined to make the best of the day. Try as she might, there's a will to move forward. Constantly on the brink of tripping over nothing, she remains upright.
Of all the noises, footsteps are my favourite. There is a rhythm, a pattern, a life story in these walks. Though they have changed slightly over time I still know them. Many of these steps I have heard for years. I believe I have grown quite fond of them.
Day after day, the same people come and go like clockwork. There is a calm in the steps. Familiarity.
First, I hear the shuffling of an old man, walking with a purpose.
Starting off too fast, realizing too late, stopping abruptly. Shoes squeak, at the toes, to a stop.
Steel hitting the windowsill as he slams his mug down with defiance. He's made it through another night.
Next is the jangle of keys, striking the left leg. Each lumbering step forced. The steps of a man who doesn't want to be present and is readily willing to tell you so.
Anxiety fills the air, you can sense it. Thick and acrid. Accompanied by the scurrying footsteps of some one about to tattle. They falter a bit. Aware that she probably shouldn't say what she is about to, but the silver hair gets the best of her.
A few random feet I don't know, traffic can be heavy sometimes.
An angry heel strikes the ground, quickly followed by toes slapping the floor. The morning has won, she has lost. The sounds echo as she blows in, defeat trailing behind her. Already given up on anything positive for the day, her purse hits the entry way, her keys hit the desk then the floor, only souring her mood more. Huffing and puffing about how hard she's had it already. I just laugh and smile. I am not worried, her mood will progress.
More feet I don't know, but I will over time. Assuming they stay.
The last feet to arrive make very little sound, they don't have much to carry. Odd for such a precarious shamble. Though, it makes sense, I suppose. Although her pace is funny, there is a certainty in it. Bound and determined to make the best of the day. Try as she might, there's a will to move forward. Constantly on the brink of tripping over nothing, she remains upright.
Of all the noises, footsteps are my favourite. There is a rhythm, a pattern, a life story in these walks. Though they have changed slightly over time I still know them. Many of these steps I have heard for years. I believe I have grown quite fond of them.
