I look up.
Heavy textured clouds seem to blend in with the ash colored neighbourhood, wrapping the trees with a pleasent stillness.
It’s warm and I feel immersed into the balmy weather. Midday… April, maybe May.
I look at all the people who pass me by, holding sacks with groceries, stridently moving and chattering.
I pass the corner of the Ingineer’s Shop and walk along the street that takes me to our place.
My mother is waving from the 4th floor, hugging my steps with her eyes. I fly her a kiss.
It is my first time when I am being given money and sent to buy bread from the grocery store.
It’s a 10-15 minutes walk from our place, between mingled shops, in the downtown of an industrial, small town.
I feel adventurous, trusted, old enough to mix with wavy, adult coats that rush, and cars that stop instinctively to let them cross.
While climbing the stairs, I count again the change and check the bag.
I feel the excitment burning my chest not only because I was succesful in my mission but because I knew that next week I may get to go few more blocks away, to pick up the order from the butcher.
One of my first steps into a life that tastes differently every time I walk into it with confidence. Either bitter, savory, spicy or creamy, the texture, the flavour is nuzzling my spirit. I start living.
Cheers to life, to all the beauty that I still not know about, to all the paths that I am walking on today and for the ones that will meet me tomorrow.