Busker

busker

Everyone’s smiling, everyone’s laughing. I’m smiling, I’m laughing. It’s real. I’m real. I’m not in a dream, even though it feels like a dream. It feels like a dream but it’s for real. Its actually real. Everyone is looking at me as I pass them on the street, smiling. Laughing gaily. All so happy. It’s a celebration. It’s a festival. Its a dream but it’s not. It’s actually happening right now. Smiling at me. Knowing me, somehow. Knowing what’s going to happen. Knowing what it’s all about. It’s all happening. Today’s the day – the day it’s all set to happen. Today’s the day. It’s happening. It’s not a dream. I’m walking down the street. Walking, walking, walking. It’s a blur of movement, a blur of colour, a blur of faces. Three guys playing music on the street. Busking. Playing away. A knot of people watching. One guy – the accordion player – looks me in the eye as I pass and smiles. It’s all in the moment. It’s all in the movement. He turns his head very slightly to one side and winks. A gesture of recognition. Did he or didn’t he. I don’t know. I’m slow. Not quite with it. Everyone else gets it but I don’t. He’s laughing. He knows me. He knows something. He knows something I don’t know. Something is going on but I don’t know what. I don’t know but he knows – I can see it in his eyes. He knows that something is happening. Something great. He knows that IT is happening! It was all there. In that moment. I could see it all in his eyes and then he was gone. It was gone. It was all over in a flash. It was like a dream. I’m moving on. I’m being washed down the street in a flood of colour. There’s people everywhere, all shapes and sizes moving this way and that, a turbulent river of colour and form. Faces pass by, caught in the moment and then gone again. Snatches of conversation hanging in the air. Words frozen in time. Then in a flurry moving on like leaves in the wind. A blustering wind blowing this way and that. A flurry of images, all colour and movement. Nothing making sense and yet everything making sense. It’s happening – today is the day. It’s now. People are happy, laughing, taking part. They know that it is happening. Just like the accordion player does. They know what it’s all about and soon I will too…

 

 

 

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