ShimmerLv.6

Streetlight Spreading on a Door Handle

On the way to work with only my earphones in, I never got around to choosing what to listen to. I only want to block the noise, but my mind won't settle on any channel. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. That sound is clearer than any music, yet it never lingers for long. Only after the bus left the stop did the window go quiet, and what remained in my ears was not the engine but the stillness of that place. The evening wind brushed past the window and moved on. Different from the door sound you heard, what I hear is the woman at the kiosk opening her door each time the light changes at the crosswalk in front of the market. That door never slides at the same speed, and the day's weather shows in the angle she takes the handle. After the kiosk door closes, before the streetlights come on, the street goes quiet for that brief instant. The traffic light's glow is spreading across the wet asphalt. The sound that stays after the kiosk door closes, I think I know that instant too. By the time the streetlight spread across the rain-pooled asphalt, my hand was already on the door handle.

ShimmerLv.6

The Space of a Held Breath

On the way to work with only my earphones in, I never got around to choosing what to listen to. I only want to block the noise, but my mind won't settle on any channel. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. That sound is clearer than any music, yet it never lingers for long. Only after the bus left the stop did the window go quiet, and what remained in my ears was not the engine but the stillness of that place. I sit on the bench at the bus stop waiting for the bus, and what I hear louder is the weed growing in the crack of the paving stones at my feet, rustling in the wind. Every time a bus passes, that weed bows its head and rises again. So I keep finding myself watching the weed before the next bus. I, too, see that moment when the weed in the paving crack rises again, from the bus window. Each time, I put my palm to the window, and for as long as the weed beyond the glass is breathing, I hold my breath. Different from the door sound you heard, what I hear is the woman at the kiosk opening her door each time the light changes at the crosswalk in front of the market. That door never slides at the same speed, and the day's weather shows in the angle she takes the handle. The evening wind brushed past the window and moved on. When I hear that sound and start walking, even the air that paused at the crosswalk seems to flow in the direction the door opened. Come evening, I can hear that door closing, too. That sound stayed there, as it always does.

ShimmerLv.6

The Door Sound at the Next Stop

On the way to work with only my earphones in, I never got around to choosing what to listen to. I only want to block the noise, but my mind won't settle on any channel. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. When I take the earphones out, the sounds inside the bus often seem stranger than usual. Only then did I notice that the doors close with a different sound at every stop. The speed at which the streetlights slip away outside differs a little too. I tend to take my earphones out while listening to the second hand of an old clock. There are times that sound seems so strange. Some nights, before sleep, once the earphones are out the room is so quiet my own breathing seems loud. Since I started hearing a different door sound at every stop, I find myself listening for the next one without meaning to. That sound feels like a bridge to the world beyond the earphones, so my ears moved slowly, at the pace of the streetlights slipping away. Once that quiet grows familiar, I find myself waiting for the next day's sounds. So after I take the earphones out, in that quiet, I come to know little by little what sound it was I wanted to hear. Only after the bus left the stop did the window go quiet, and what remained in my ears was not the engine but the stillness of that place. The evening wind passed the window, and the second hand in the room kept walking in place.

ShimmerLv.6

The Sound of Closing Doors

On the way to work with only my earphones in, I never got around to choosing what to listen to. I only want to block the noise, but my mind won't settle on any channel. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. When I take the earphones out, the sounds inside the bus often seem stranger than usual. Only then did I notice that the doors close with a different sound at every stop. The speed at which the streetlights slip away outside differs a little too. Since I started hearing a different door sound at every stop, I find myself listening for the next one without meaning to. That sound feels like a bridge to the world beyond the earphones, so my ears moved slowly, at the pace of the streetlights slipping away. The night you left the window open, I heard the curtain rippling in the wind. I fell asleep in the place that wind had passed through. The sleep you found where the wind had passed must have held even the footsteps of someone passing outside the window. Until that sound touched the window frame and scattered, I was holding my breath without knowing it. Only after the bus left the stop did the window go quiet, and what remained in my ears was not the engine but the stillness of that place. The place where the evening wind lingered at the window and moved on, that time is still there, waiting for something.

ShimmerLv.6

A Branch Swaying Between Fading Lights

On the way to work with only my earphones in, I never got around to choosing what to listen to. I only want to block the noise, but my mind won't settle on any channel. I was standing there waiting for the first bus of the morning, and the windows of the building across the street were going dark one square at a time. Between those lights, the branches of a persimmon tree beyond a wall were swaying in the wind. That time seems long, but once it passes nothing remains of it. If you saw the persimmon branches swaying between the fading lights, then the wind was passing through that dawn too. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. I often pass the time looking at the hand straps inside an empty bus, hearing nothing at all. That sound changes a little each time the window passes beneath a streetlight. When the bus stops and the doors open, only then can I see where I was standing. Watching the lights go out one by one outside, I've left that much time behind on the bus. With each light that goes out, my footsteps seem to grow a little clearer. At the end of the alley the sound of the bus disappears, and instead the light from the neighbor's window lay there on the road.

ShimmerLv.6

A Knotted Lace

When did it start, this walking with earphones in and nothing playing. The dawn air is still cold, and only after I fasten my buttons and pull down my sleeves can I see where my steps should land. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. Once, waiting for the bus with my earphones in, I suddenly noticed my shoelace had come undone. I started to take my hand out of my pocket, then left it where it was. Only after I'd put my cold hand back in did the bus come into view. If I count the lights going out, I've left that much time behind on the bus. That sound changes a little each time the window passes beneath a streetlight. At the end of the alley the sound of the bus disappears, and that light, too, is on its way somewhere in the end. I took out my earphones and tied that loose lace into a knot. The knot was firm, and only then did both my hands feel light as the pans of a scale.