Life's small mysteries. 1.
I've been aware of this for perhaps a couple of years, but have never really given it a great deal of thought. However, it occurred to me recently that life is full of odd little mysteries that defy explanation.
My blogging activity at Disjointed Reality has become rather stagnant. When I actually do post something, I always enjoy the process, and, no matter how many people actually see what I post, there is a buzz at putting something 'out there' which may or may not be seen.
So, in an attempt to kick start more regular posting, I'm going to start a series called Life's small mysteries.
I am, like most people, no doubt, a keen observer; a 'people watcher'. Actually, not just people. With a lifetime in art, design and photography, both professionally and as a hobby, I consciously and unconsciously seek out composition, pattern, combinations of colours, shapes, textures and typography.
Today's mystery, which I referred to in the first sentence of this post, before I became totally distracted with explanation and justification, is concerning people. It could almost be the start of a novel, but I can see no way forward for the story.
As I stand in the queue of my most regularly visited coffee shop, there is a man sitting on a stool looking out of the window. He has a cup of coffee, an open newspaper and a small pile of paper napkins. A young woman, possibly in her early thirties and wearing dark glasses enters the coffee shop. She buys a coffee and a small cake, takes a long look around and then, via a circuitous route around the premises sits down on the stool next to the man sitting in the window. After a few minutes, he slides the pile of napkins along the counter top towards her. Nothing is said and they never look at each other. She places her cake on the top of the pile of napkins - he then finishes his coffee, folds his newspaper and puts it under his arm and leaves.
About ten minutes later, having finished her coffee and cake, she folds the pile of napkins in two, stuffs them in her coat pocket, visits the toilet and then leaves.
I have observed this routine on probably twenty separate occasions, and remain intrigued.