just like yesterday.

For a Travel Writing course-assignment, I was asked to record three journal-esque entries from a frequently visited location.

Here are my thoughts:

Day 1…

The sun shines blindingly bright, both in direct gaze and in the liquid reflection off the river. It is so bright, that I have to squint my eyes just to write. I imagine that the tree stump I’m sitting on is much like Shel Silverstein’s “Giving Tree,” and I wonder who all has received welcome from his generosity over the years. When his branches thrived, who sat in his shade? And now as an old stump, how many residents or tourists have appreciated his nature-constructed seat. From the tree’s riverside perspective of Florence, I am sure he absorbs countless stories throughout the passing ages…

The sun makes it nearly impossible to open my eyes, but I appreciate its warmth and decide to embrace the natural blindfold it's rays create. 

With my eyes now shut, I hear more than I did before. I hear a basketball beating the pavement behind me, with an occasional swish of a made-shot. I hear the wind filter through the branches above, like a long, deep exhale. I also feel the chill it carries on one side of my face while the sun bakes the other cheek. I hear cars and vespas and bikes, and finally, an ambulance. 

Yet, even with closed eyes, little changes. I still easily picture the now-familiar scene, and the new crisply perceived sounds and feelings only sharpen the images of daily riverbank routine within my memory. 

Day 2…

Today, I want to eliminate another sense. Yesterday I blocked my vision, now I try to mask my hearing.  Using my iPod, I make sure I can audibly perceive nothing but the music streaming through each headphone. 

The stronger wind and silver hues of the sky and water complimentarily produce a less triumphant aura than the day before. I think I can smell rain.  And it feels much colder. Yet the seemingly rehearsed act of habitual life carries on. People cross the bridge, busses and bikes wheel by on the opposite embankment and rowboats glide along in a daily workout.

The most apparent contrast deems a more introspective analysis. With my eyes closed yesterday, I felt as though I still somehow participated in the rhythm of this venue. But today, I strangely feel like a mere observer; disengaged with a sideline view of the world in front of me. 
           In a casual “would you rather” conversation, I’ve been asked to if I’d prefer to lose my sight or hearing. I always chose the latter. But after today’s intriguing discovery, I may have to reconsider.

Day 3…

On this third day, I had hoped to remove yet another sense. However, I can not determine how to thoroughly accomplish this, so I simply allow my thoughts wander... 

I think about the continuity of the life around me. Despite slight alterations in weather or personally modified circumstances, life appears to progress in similar manner every day. People still saunter or drive to their destination, and the details I noted on previous sittings persist. The river still flows, and the Giving Tree stump-seat still remains. 

The inevitable awareness of life's habitual repetition oddly fascinates me. I know life is prone to evolve, for I have experienced more change in the past few years than I can keep up with. Yet simultaneous to its evolution, it also carries on similar to the day before. I suppose I will always attempt to reconcile the tension between change and constancy. But today I acknowledge a continued story- a continued stream of occurrences that that connect to a vaster meaning. And as the years pass, I hope to discover what small but significant role I get to contribute to this ongoing reel.