As I rushed through the streets of Belgrade doing some errands yesterday, I passed by an elderly man in his 80s with thick black rimmed glasses and a brown hat and a long brown coat since it was really cold. As we approached each other on the pavement, opposite busy Kalenic market, he looked at me guessingly, as he too, it seemed to me, tried to soak in as much information in that second about my image, face, posture, hair, smile, facial expression, and if not to read thoughts maybe tried to guess where and how I lived and what I did and who I was. It made me a bit self-aware but I was equally intrigued about his life, if he led a rich internal life and how much beauty can he see in this grim town, on his daily walk to the market and back home...do these things matter to him, does he read any books? I will never find out but how nice it is to imagine, invent stories and look around with eyes wide open...perhaps, t'was part of realisation that I *might* grow old one day and I'd be equally now and then trying to look deeper into the faces of young people, see the hope? in their eyes, look for beauty around me and admire few old houses that aged gracefully... or turn around and look for beauty in geometrical spheres, objects and make Op-art and music.
Lindsay
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