Movie all
Everything has been very still lately. There’s never many people around. Days have been passing through the same cycle of routine, so unchanging that the days have started blending together. I don’t fully understand how everything is so familiar, but still has no roots. There’s nothing holding everything together in San Diego. The sky is always the same shade of blue, and everyone whirs around at the same rate, consistent.
I’ve found home elsewhere. When I look at the colorful map on my wall, I can see everything from San Diego to Maine. Every brook and stream heading to the currents of river. Each twisting, mountainous road leading toward the peak. Though roads and trails change over time, fading under erosion or natural disasters, at the root, nothing really leaves. People have lived before me, and people will continue to live after me. Now, my biggest question is: what will I choose to leave behind?
My uncle is a self-taught painter. For years, he’s traveled from national park to hidden crevice and back, painting small, singular images of the scenery he finds. He gave me his first painting. It is not particularly special. The brush strokes are clumsy and the colors have faded over the years, and the frame is prone to hanging crooked. But it is the scene he intended to paint. That desert could be unrecognizable by now, or it could look as thought not a day has passed. I prefer to believe the latter.
That painting made me recognize the value of awareness. There are, in fact, intricate details in every day. There is no one pattern. There are continuities, and there are correlations, but each characteristic is unique. Nothing will ever occur in exactly the same way twice.
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