Passante

"Look closely at her. 

She crosses a city street, juggling her briefcase and her sack of groceries. Or she walks down a dirty road, balancing a basket on her head. Or she hurries toward her locked car, pulling a small child along with her. Or she trugdes home from the fields, the baby strapped to her back.

Suddenly there are footsteps behind her. Heavy, rapid. A man's footeps.

She knows this immediately, just as she knows that she must no look around. She quickens her pace in time to the quickening of her pulse. 

She is afraid. He could be a rapist. He could be a soldier, a harasser, a robber, a killer. 

He could be non of these. He could be a man in a hurry. He could be a man merely walking at his normal pace. 

But she fears him. She fears him because he is a man. She has reason to fear."

The Demon Lover, Robin Morgan

Parfois, il y a cet instant fugitif, a feeling of completeness, touché furtif, frôlement de l'âme d'un mot, d'un geste, d'une image, d'un son, d'un lieu, d'un être. And for a while, the puzzle is complete, everything is in place. Something, unknown before, is recognised. And our mind and our heart broaden and blossom. 

I live for these moments.