Bubble

I walk inhaling the morning fragrance through a mask, after a long time. 

A child sprints past me, blowing bubbles from a glass. She is not wearing a mask. Somehow, I wish she had stopped to smile at me, or exchange some childish banter. I look back, but she has not noticed my presence. Maybe her freedom is short-lived, as she fears a parent will call her back in.

I will go back to my blog, and exchange virtual notes with humans out there. The writers are sensitive souls, and I vibe well with them.

Then, I will scroll through my social media feeds. The insane, the megalomaniacs, intellectuals in the ivory tower areal perhaps struggling to get out of their bubbles and connect. I smile invisibly, and stop to engage on some posts I’d have not bothered about before.

Will of God, or time

taking a walk through our world

-are great levellers

Tale Weaver – #300 – Bubbles – November 5th.