Usa

Aparuse pe strada cam de o saptamana. Statea singura si izolata intr-un maldar de daramaturi, veche de cand lumea si urata ca si lumea. Nu o baga nimeni in seama. Pentru ca oamenii care treceau pe strada, aceiasi zi de zi, an de an,  aveau problemele lor, fericirile si dramele lor. Nu aveau timp pentru usa cea urata. De fapt,  nici nu era genul de usa pe care sa vrei s-o iei acasa. Era zgariata si ruginita, intr-un colt era chiar rupta si in locul clantei avea o gaura cu forme neregulate. Pesemne ca la un moment dat, in odiseea vietii ei, fusese smulsa din incheieturi si poate chiar sparta cu piciorul de vreun proprietar nervos. Nu, nu era deloc usa pe care sa o bagi in seama. Astfel incat Inga nu-si putea explica de ce astazi se oprise in fata ei. O privea si parca astepta. De fapt, ca sa pastram adevarul lucrurilor, nu o privea propriuzis. Privea prin ea, undeva departe, doar ea stia cat de departe sfredeleau gandurile ei. Si, ca niciodata, puse incet mana pe ea si o impinse. Gestul nu a fost unul gandit ci mai degraba instinctiv. Pentru ca mana nu asculta de minte care era in alte atmosfere. Pur si simplu, mana se misca fara ea. Incet, scartaind dar totusi lin, fara hopuri, usa ruginita, veche si uitata, se intredeschise. Deabia acum Inga realiza ca ea era cea care, aflata pe strada ei zilnica, deschisese usa cea urata care aparuse din neunde. Ii dicta mainii sa o impinga si mai mult. Mana, ascultatoare, urma gandul stapanei. Usa se deschise larg. Daca te-ai fi aflat atunci langa Inga ai fi zarit, poate, zambetul umed care ii inflorise pe buze si privirea care i se umpluse. Privirea i se umpluse cum nu mai fusese demult, cum nici ea nu-si mai amintea sa fi fost cand si unde. O vreme statu nemiscata, privind prin golul usii. Oamenii grabiti care se impiedicau de ea pufneau nemultumiti, priveau o clipa prin golul usii, in directia privirii ei si treceau mai departe. Unii chiar mormaiau in barba nemultumirea. Inga statea nemiscata si privea. Zambea cum nu mai facuse demult. Acolo unde se uita, ceilalti nu zareau decat golul daramaturilor si oricum nu aveau timp sa stea din dramele si fericirile lor, nu doreau decat sa ajunga mai repede la familiile lor, la serviciile lor, la masinile si tramvaiele lor. Dupa o vreme, Inga inchise usa incet. Zambi ghidus, ii facu cu ochiul usii si se departa incet. De atunci, in fiecare zi Inga trecea pe strada ei si ii zambea usii. Printre atatea incruntari care treceau pe langa usa, un singur zambet inflorea. Pentru ca Inga stia.

Published by Travel Man

The moment I reinvented myself, these were the words that seemed to fit-Travel Man. To see and feel became more important than to have and use. And then I started my journey. Me and my camera. And what I discovered I shared with others, in my own words. And I like to think that because of my journey,someone somewhere discovered the world,walking on my path. And if that really happened, it is the greatest reward for the efforts and adventures of my travels. At the end of the road, the only thing you still carry with you on the Greatest Journey is just... your memories. To gather stuff, to buy houses, cars,refrigerators, to indulge yourself with an extra pair of shoes, beside the other 6 you already have, to get another bank loan, to build another pool.... Such human actions, simple, routine, normal. So earthbound. And so farther from the sky. Because, let's be honest, how many of us, busy and head down tracing the worldly goods, remember to look up to the sky, watching in awe a murmuration of starlings, listening to the perfect whistle of the blackbird, how many of us still feel the thrill of a sea gull's cry, how many still bow when admiring a colony of penguins hatching their eggs at -50 C? We cannot but bow before nature and, as small creatures that we ourselves are, learn from fellow creatures, feathered, furred, with claws or fangs. We should better stay afar and watch, we should not bend nature to fit our modest dimensions. We should better watch and learn and respect their space, we should admire nature's wonders and do that today. Not tomorrow. Because tomorrow might already be too late. For them, but most of all for us. The only form of movement is the journey.

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