She
walked at a pace that allowed her to stop and look up at the buildings without
entirely holding up the sidewalk traffic or bumping into a flustered city commuter (although it did happen occasionally). Her hair was piled messily onto
her head, wisps of it flying against the anticipating storm, her grey
sweatshirt and black boots matching the mood of the weather. Her signature teeny-tiny
emerald stone earrings and light pink lip balm highlighted the features of her
face- small ears, strong jawline, pouty lips. She was on her way to class, where
today they’d be discussing Karl Marx and Frederich Engles and The Origin of Family, Private Property, and
The State. She loved feminist philosophy, and, really, several schools of
philosophy- it made her feel as if she could think her way through anything and
that nothing is really what we are told it to be. Coming from a father and grandfather
whose views on women and property reflected the archaic ignorance of that in the bible, she broke free from those force-fed thoughts in high school, and continues to struggle with the
anxiety that comes with a family who doesn’t know her, and wouldn’t approve of
her if she were to engage with in her opposing views on life. Engles talks
about marriage being equal to that of prostitution- both making women instrumental
property of men. As a twenty-something feminist, she acknowledged these darker,
more cynical views on marriage. She wasn’t a fan of many traditions, but in her
deepest heart, she hoped that there was someone out there for her (to namely
share these thoughts and views with, in part of being a romantic partner). She had just
returned back to the city from her long time friend’s wedding (and she was the
maid of honor) and the elephant in the room was that the the friendship had changed dramatically when different life
paths were exposed. She imagined keeping this dark, "unacceptable" view on marriage
as a sneaky secret from her friend; a secret that felt as if she were the smarter one because she had the ability to analyze and critique things on a level that challenged many
others. She paused at her thoughts and the word egotistical
echoed back. She had an awareness of her thoughts and acknowledged them for
what they were, without judgment (a mental skill she practiced daily). As she was passing a grey-bricked building half covered in moss
where the perfect iced Americano awaited her, she paused at its entrance- two
large pots of faded pink zinnias and bright orange poppies contrasted against
the deep colors of the brick and the moss as well as the grey sky that hung
sadly above. A few bees, maybe three to five, were kissing the centers of the
flowers. They seem happy, she
thought. She lowered herself to the side of the pot to peer closer into the
lives of the bees. City bees. Do they
feel suffocated? The hummed along, buzzing and pausing.This reminded her of Their
Eyes Were Watching God when Janie notices the bees pollinating in the pear
blossom tree; Janie was enlightened and intrigued in finding true love (and
understanding sexuality in relation to love). It made sense to her now, to see
the bees partaking in the love of the flower- a kind of innate desire to be
close and intimate with something so beautiful, so alive. Stares and glances
were being shadowed her way as she continued to kneel and observe the vibrating
intimacy between creature and beauty. image from pinterest