Momentary Blindness II

Thomas Cane

               The storms had just passed and wildlife was slowly re-emerging.  Raindrops from the tree tops fell onto my hand and the pages of my notes.  As the wind rustled the trees more rain fell, and facing it some drops glanced across my cheeks.  The rough texture of gravel massaged my feet lessening the pain from the countless miles of walking.  Sunlight quietly streamed through the canopy and warmed my skin.  Silence filled the yard for a time, but eventually sound reawakened.  The birds chirping and cawing as they emerged from their shelters filled the trees.  The gentle flutter of their wings added to the sound of wind through the trees.   My ears picked up the cautious gait of people walking over wet gravel slick with rain.  There was the sliding of wheels over this gravel too wet to roll over.  Focusing far away from our enclosure the surrounding cityscape was whirring with the echo of motors.  If I kept my focus on the immediate surrounding there was a simple silence as the birds settled their cries.  In this quiet my nose began picking up all the scents swirling around me.  Facing upwards the clear smell of damp wood and bark flooded at me.  Turning towards the ground the mud and grass met me with subtle tones from a mixture of the wet stones, newly trimmed grass, and the clear smell of water collecting into droplets.  The wind picked up again, but now tickled my nose with a new sensation that made me quickly turn towards its source.  The blooming oranges were releasing their wondrous fragrance across the courtyard.

(I went blind in the Aventine Gardens on May 27)