If I could take a picture of spring, I would take a picture of the sound of my bedroom this afternoon. Passed out on my bed, lit by the dwindling sun of a late-March evening of a day when spring shined so evidently through the cracks that you could smell it even in New York, I woke up to the sound of latin pop literally pulsing through my open window. You know it is spring when you can wake up from a nap, and the darkness outside can actually make you smile because it's just as alive as the light. The car parked on the street, rocking spanish so loud that the whole block must have shaken, the swarms of people packing the streets at 2:30 in the morning. It is their sound I wish I could take a picture of-- if only I could capture that hazy moment between lucidity and dreaming when Shakira's voice invade my subconscious world to tell me the world is vibrant, that would be spring.
Spring would be the low murmer of people all around me, in the darkness of the night, partying under the distant glow of the Empire State building, the rings of cell phones, the pattering of footsteps on the ceiling from the party on the roof. If only I could take a picture of these sounds, of that morning smell that announces the new season just before it starts, me in my room with the energy of the neighborhood breezing through my window and flooding the world with life.
How do you know it's spring? Can you capture it on film? In words? In memory? Can you capture emotion, power, happiness with any one sense? Or must we always use them all to archive the scented sounds of spring?
posted by iliza @ 2:31 AM
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