The pebble lady

Modifié le : 2016/09/18

She blocks the path, gets too wide in the esca­la­tor with her suit­case on wheels and too many bags to car­ry. Peo­ple in a hur­ry who rush to the left must slow down their momen­tum. It takes no more than five sec­onds for the nor­mal pas­sen­ger flow to be slowed down, modified.

It looks like a big rock falling into a riv­er. The water protests, splash­es the intrud­er, but noth­ing does. It has at its dis­pos­al all the Earth­’s grav­i­ty. The riv­er swells and takes on its left or right. If they are not one, but rock piles, a moun­tain of debris, a tree clev­er­ly felled by a beaver, con­ges­tion would be fatal, the ecosys­tem would take it for its cold.

The lit­tle old lady is like that rock. She has the grav­i­ty of time. Her hes­i­tant steps pierce the ner­vous mag­ma of passers-by and upset the har­mo­nious chaos of urban­ized people.

Final­ly, the old lady arrives on the first floor, hes­i­tat­ing, regains her bal­ance and reach­es the floor after almost caus­ing a fat lady to fall behind her. But the way is clear now. The impa­tient can recov­er their momen­tum, while oth­ers still have to deal with the diag­o­nal path of the lady who seems lost, or not inter­est­ed in find­ing the best line, the right one or the most com­fort­able for her breath.

I’m about to go around it, too. At the last moment, she decides to change direc­tion. I almost push her over the edge. She saw noth­ing, seems to have final­ly found the right way, smil­ing, her eyes brought back to the ground as if she was look­ing for the stones left by a Lit­tle Thumb of her knowledge.

One day, I hope, I will be like her, drag­ging my feet and no longer tak­ing care of impor­tant things, dream­ing out loud with­out hav­ing to cling to urban demands or even a salary.

But for the moment, I still have a lot to prove, to find, to brood, to hope, to…