a beautifully woven crapestry

someone told me once that beauty was in the details. or life. or god. i'm not sure what it was, but those all seem relatively important, and thus i try to pay attention to the details. i walk out to my steps and i make an effort to remember the details of my actions and surroundings. i remember lighting my cigarette. i sit on the steps and try to remember if it's my first time on the steps today. i falter, but recall that it was my second because my first time was hours earlier.

i found myself leaning on the railing by the steps smoking a cigarette. i wondered to myself how i got there. i didn't remember even lighting the cigarette. that was my first time. i told myself to remember the next time i leave my apartment, and to remember what it looked like when i lit my cigarette. remember where it was and how the flame danced before the tip. because whether i realize it or not, these details somehow play into the equation of life. or beauty. or god. so i shrug my shoulders and the brisk Fall air runs up the back of my shirt. my skin shudders and is brushed by my cotton shirt as it rises and settles again against my back. it feels good. like running your hand around the back of your neck. sometimes you forget that it feels so comforting.

so i take a puff from my cigarette, shrug my shoulders, rub my neck and look out over the courtyard at the people walking across the field. everyone walks differently, some fast, some slow, toes pointed in or out, bouncy or rigid. i think about all the words in our language that can describe a person's way of walking. strut. step. stride. traipse. trudge. trek. eskimos have a million names describing snow. and we have a million ways to walk.

but there's only one running. i was running on the track at my high school. across the street there is a hospital. running is very boring. anything that takes your mind off the fact that your whole body aches is very much welcome. i try to look at people to take my mind off. so as i circle the track, i detail in my head the exact position of where they are and where they are going.

along the road that runs between the track and the hospital, a man walks. his arm is in a sling and his clothes are vintage looking. his gray hair shows evidence of some sort of brill cream. he's walking very briskly but his huge frame makes it seem slow. behind him, an older slightly round woman in a tight summer dress struggles to keep up. her heels fumble as she clumsily attempts to gain on the hulking man in front of her. the dress combined with the floral hat on her head gave the impression she had just come from church.

the couple looked very out of place. the man walked and the lady followed. i kept an eye on them as i circled lap after lap. occasionally the man would stop, say a few words and turn around in the opposite direction. this allowed me to watch the couple walk back and forth in front of the hospital. the lady looked obviously distraught.

i wondered what happened to the man's arm and why he was so angry with his wife. the poor lady looked harmless to me. lap after lap of this scene weighed heavily on my mind. i thought about stopping and leaning on the fence. maybe saying something. but what if i angered the man and he pushed (what looked like) his wife in front of a car? that would be bad. i continued running. but as i was nearing the apex of my turn, i noticed the man was pretty close to me. in mid-stride i yelled:

"hey! you look foolish!"

because i felt that he did. then i drank some water and went home, exhausted from all the running.