nortedasaudade

sometimes one is so tired of walking they lose sight and track of where they’re heading. their feet, too sore to hurt, alternate as pre-programmed, to the rhythm of the clashing and banging of uncoordinated thoughts. their thoughts, too free to be fertile. the nails of nature dig deep into the flesh – heat or cold or rain or hunger steal away the attention of the eye. one walks because once one walked and yet and more and further. every now and then the spectacle of the ordinary tries to assault ones attention. every now and then it does. but the pace is the master in this game. there may be a song in one’s head, a catching phrase from a forgettable book, a word that refuses to be remembered, an unidentifiable odour that insists on bringing forth flints of memories. the arms of the clock continue their choreography, indifferent. all the senses may be shut down not to overshadow the fact that the feet trespass each other. the destination or destiny is certain, yet unrevealed, much like the lyrics one knows one knows and still can’t recall. weariness is the clue to the charade. in a way it’s like the feet know, with the assertiveness only hope confers, that at some point there will be a corner, a step, a ladder, a stone and the wandering will then be justified, the thirst will be quenched, the sweat will evaporate, the pain will be gone. this is what two thousand and six felt like. the difficulties lined up like labouring ants. we kept on going because we have found in each other the matter that makes one keep on going, and love or trust or faith or respect, or all of the previous function as the sole between the foot and the asphalt. we celebrate our union and take comfort on our believes and our beloved and hope the year to come has in store a corner, a step, a ladder, a stone…

marina martinelli, december 2006.