Things I see

I am finally in possession of a camera phone, which will enable me to take avant-garde photos of the things I see while on my mundane travels. I pass the stuffed sheep (who seems to be put out on a daily basis) on one of my walking routes. I have a great deal of respect for the genius behind this specific permutation of the Serta sheep ad campaign. However, I admit that it has not moved me to enter the Broadview Mattress Showroom and browse. Perhaps one day I'll need a nice nap in the middle of my walk. I wonder if they'll let me sleep with the big stuffed sheep.

This is a shoe. It is not my shoe. I don't know whose shoe it is. I did not touch it or inspect it any further than necessary to take this picture. I scanned the area for another shoe but, sadly, did not find one.

Hello shoe. Lonely, lonely shoe.

Further down the road, I came upon a sheaf of papers. They were startlingly white and consisted of a number of stapled bunches that appeared to be blank. I picked them up for a closer look and found the papers to be dimpled with braille marks. I brushed my fingers against the raised bumps and wondered if these were school sheets or instruction manuals or perhaps the work of a writer.

I thought about the person who dropped the pages. Was it a huge loss or were the pages not so important? What sort of printer creates braille print? How does reading with your fingers change the experience? No matter how much I fingered and stared, however, the secrets therein would not be revealed to me and I concluded this to be a victorious irony.

I stacked the sheets neatly and set them on a nearby utility box, hoping that a friend or guardian of their owner would find them before the next rain.

I raised my head to take in the contrast of yellow and brown leaves against the impossibly blue sky. I looked at a young man polishing his gleaming red sports car. I thought of the perfect hue of my daughter's skin and the pleasing pattern of hair on my husband's chest. I thought of the shoe and the big stuffed sheep. I gazed one more time at the bright white papers. Otherwise occupied with the gift of eyesight and a smattering of tears, I neglected to take a picture of the cryptic braille pages before walking on.