Yesterday on the road back from Oradea I was overwhelmed. At the movement of everything, and what it means to take the time to watch. I was determined to be productive, and sat with my eyes fixed on my book for most of the ride until finally I looked up. For the next 117 km I was transfixed by the way the dark grey clouds hovered over the miles of sunflower fields and the way this made the yellows look wild. The way the little old ladies nodded off to sleep, waking up only to adjust their unraveling headscarves. Every town had its essentials: tall, silver steeples of the Orthodox church, Gypsies selling watermelon from their carts, decaying architecture, grapevines growing over the courtyards and bright turquoise gates. The homes along the road are bright shades of yellow, peach, green, and an occasional blue. Windows showcase collections of Orthodox icons and the flowerboxes are full of red-and-white geraniums. I looked back down at my book, only to jump up at the sound of a train going by to our left. The curtains were flailing about the windows "C.F.R." written in faded white paint on the side of the old train cars. I like the way the cobalt blue looks against the rest of the scenery, and the way everything in that moment was synchronized. The colors, the light, the sounds, the tempo all conspired to make that incredible moment. Sometimes, when I picture myself as a tiny dot moving along a map...I don't know...
I feel at home.
And tonight, Ashley, Lavi & I bought a watermelon and called our friends to meet us in the park with a knife and a plastic bag (for the remains). They like to make it dramatic and say "We're going to slaughter this watermelon!", so we go along with it. We ate it with our hands and faces and let the juice drip down our arms. I could get used to this.