“Time is a game played beautifully by children.”- Fragments
The small girl looks at my baseball cap, then slowly at my watch, then my face, and hair. I smile, and greet her “Hello.” She holds her mom’s hand and takes a few steps away. Then she tilts her head, stares at me for a couple of seconds, and smiles back. Her teeth have gone to the tooth fairy, and messy hair tucked into a ponytail. In a minute, she says, “Hello” and hides her face behind the bread aisle of the relaxed grocery store.
I love it. I love greeting strangers, and passing silent smiles. There is a strange friendliness when we exchange warmth with indiscriminate greetings.
It’s 11 AM.
That time of the day when the California sun brutally hurts all eyes. When too many shirtless people jog outside to give the sun some love hugs. When bored mothers take the strollers out and stroll with the babies until their feet hurt. When a girl in the park opens a book and adjusts her hat to read in the sun. When a guy stops by the local café to finally welcome the morning before it ends on the lap of another bright yellow dressed afternoon.
It’s that time of the day when I am mostly indoor, inside temperature controlled environment, looking away from the real world. From school days till date, 11 AM has always been wrapped under the blanket of workaholic environments, little far from the sun and sweat. But nowadays I sometimes go out to study how the real world appears before us at 11 AM. I try to understand how many stories quietly are repeating at cafes, and parks, and on roads and how many stories I have been missing noticing.
Days are numbered. So are the hours. Have you ever missed a particular time of the day? Have you too missed noticing 4 AMs, 11 AMs, or 2 PMs?