23 August 2009
The Alabama grass buzzes with the hum of Alabama bugs, soft, sweet and reassuring. It’s never silent here.
Sensing the last thread of gold sunset peeking over the trees, I glance up from my paperback to observe the best moments of the day while noticing the muffled conversation of the three white twenty-somethings sitting behind me.
As a black couple in loud yet unobtrusive conversation passes, black dots flit through my line of vision. Their erratic motions indicate that suppertime has finally come. Dusk.
--
My family and I wait patiently and silently for the waiter to bring a few glasses of beer to the patio table we’ve claimed. We have exhausted all points of conversation after being each other’s only company for the past week. We are silent but content. Our eyes wander but we are not bored.
My eyes erratically follow the flight of a thousand black dots, birds. Where their paths intersect I guess which way to swing my gaze and most of the time assume that I have made the correct judgment. I am watching the same bird as I was just a second ago.
So this is Spain.
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