THE GIRL WHO FINDS HER WAY THROUGH TOUCH

The children who attend the therapy classes are a varied bunch. There’s a blind girl among them, 5-7 years of age. She’s very uninhibited and unafraid; she finds her way through touch, she even touches peoples’ faces and doesn’t seem to have any notion of fear or propriety. Let’s hope that she’s not going to hurt her hands during future explorations. She’s also very curious, wants to know everything about everyone she encounters. She’s a very lovely little girl, she makes everyone around her feel warm inside. Maybe she is kindling some sort of hope in our hearts, making us feel that life can be wonderful even if it’s not perfect and horrible things may happen.

A SUNDAY AFTERNOON

At dusk I cycled up Corbin Ave, west along Clinton St and north Slater Rd. In this area there is a high concentration of high-rises stretching between Corbin Ave and Slater Rd. They lead into a wide expanse of small timber bungalows, many of them a tad decrepit but in a reasonable state on the whole, both houses and plots, the overall impression is a favorable one. A small street runs down from Slater Rd in the middle of the residential area over to the headquarters of two large companies, Stanley the toolmakers and some international insurance company, who can both be seen from the nearby highway when the trees are bare. It was curious seeing these large buildings in the drizzle, especially the insurance company building which has a dark gray marble surface, very modern and impressive. It seemed to be unoccupied and there was not a single car in the large and well-kept parking lot where immaculately trimmed bushed divided the rows. There was something very cold and lonely about all this in the fine drizzle. I had a vision of the future, ten years hence: the high-rises in ruins, the residential area around it a slum, the company headquarters having moved away because of the risible state of the area. The windows of the high-rises have been boarded up, the walls are crumbling on the outside, the plots around them are a mess, the asphalt covered with cracks, with wild plants forcing themselves through them. Then I cycled back along Corbin Ave. I passed two ironing boards abandoned on the sidewalk. One of them, painted a bluish green color, was barely standing on its crooked legs, the other, a shade of grayish green, was laying flat on the sidewalk with the ironing surface upwards.

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