Drifting

Some days it could be nice to examine the thinking, other days it would be better to walk out of the apartment, out into the streets, and start looking at people and finding a nice park or a coffee shop. Anywhere with some energy, a place to forget yourself and float like an old wooden sailboat into the seas. I walked slowly on the sidewalk and noticed the trees on the left hand side, lined up and separating the cars from the walking path on asphalt. I felt the foot touching, rolling, then slightly kicking off from the ground. Then repeat. The jacket was open. I walked a few more steps, and then stopped.
It was like walking as a little child, in a brief moment, like the body remembered something from a few decades before, and I felt a changing mood. Like liquid on a surface, gliding from one side to the other. At the end of the street there was a park, an old park with big oak trees and a wide pond in the middle. I kept walking as the street morphed into a scenery of a desert, and then of a forest. I was dreaming. There was a scratching sound, and I opened my eyes. Lying in bed. In a dimly lit room. The morning light hiding behind the curtains. And on the night stand table, a book, a cup, and a lamp. I briefly closed my eyes and tried to imagine the street I had been walking through. Was it an old vacation, or something from a movie, or just the imagination? It was partly recognizable but then it dissolved again. And the morning light started to seep into the room on the side of the curtains. A new day. And a busy day. I stretched lying and then sat up. Then slowly leaned back into the bed. No need to rush yet. There is still time.
Half an hour later I was sitting by the table having breakfast, already showered and dressed. A glass of juice, and a toast.

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