My favourite song is Sunday in Savannah by Nina Simone. Lovely. I was listening to it this afternoon while gardening on my balcony. I don’t know where Savannah is but when I sing it I think about sugar, and that sweet air found only in the south.
Every now and again I remind myself how wonderful it is to be breathing. Our bodies may only be shells but without them we would be incapable of appreciating the simple pleasures of music, sun and flowers.
it sounds cheesy but eyes are the windows to the soul. think about it. look into charles manson’s eyes and you can see bile. look into the eyes of mother theresa and you see someone who didn’t believe the words she was preaching. look into the eyes of george w. bush and you see vacancies.
our eyes say a lot about who we are and how we think. sometimes they can even hint at what we’re thinking. but not all of us have been gifted with sight, and others have been robbed of it.
i met a man the other day, who in his thirties, woke up one morning to discover that he was blind. for months, without his knowledge, a tumour had been growing on his optic nerve. everything he had experienced up until that point was now very much in the past. his future as a sightless person was upon him and he had to adjust.
on most days when i see him, he wears sunglasses, and i want to ask him if he wouldn’t mind pulling them down, if only for a brief minute, so that i can learn what colour his eyes are.
but then i think that would be a strange request.
freakish things happen to people just like us everyday. many wallow in self-pity. others move on and live their lives, as best they can.
it’s all any one of us can do.