The sweet smell of berries hung thick in the air, their tangy sugary goodness with the earthy undertone making it real. No candy could ever capture the true smell of any berry- no chemicals for preservatives here, just the smell of the honest sweet things with dirt. No other smell could compare to that of summertime harvesting.


Too bad it was fall and nowhere near berry harvesting time. No rich tangy blackberries, no deep and wild strawberries, no almost sour raspberries, not even any purple staining blueberries. No childhood sweetness here, just the cold harsh city life filled with college students. My dark circled eyes followed the forms of people as they passed my by, all off in their own world, ignoring everyone else and their troubles. Everyone has troubles here.


The sky was a scarlet grey with hues of green and violet in my eyes but no blue. The cloud filled sky to everyone else was simply grey- a long seen shade that was as common placed as the grey concrete I sat on. But to me even the concrete shined with colors of shocking pink to frost purple with little diamonds breaking through, but still no blue. The air was scented with fast food of; Mexican, American and even Thai joints, tobacco smoke littered the air and even a sate of movement (yes the smell of movement) even filled the air I breathed. It wasn’t bad, so much as different. I loved to breathe it in normally, but not today with memories of earthy berries and bright blue skies.


The people here had only memories of; city after city, dark sky after dark sky, grey after grey. My eyes were trained to see the color in life, the beauty in everyday things that people have ignored. Not just in scenery, but in people too; trained to see the good in people even as they were killing you. I looked into people’s worlds as they passed me by, opening up a channel of understanding. In a sea of people, they all live inside their little bubbles of security.



In my view is; a street packed with moving cars, a tree that is hibernating that people keep calling dead, an old women, a black man, three little boys, and a young business woman, all waiting for the 2’aclock bus. The old woman had a long brimmed black hat with raven feathers and black lace covering her aged face. She had long nails, yellowed with long white tips- natural in her case- her fingers were bare save one little ring on her index finger that has a gold band with a purplish pink stone with gold leaves wrapped around the square gem. Her all black attire would make other think widow but I thought fashion, she was not mourning the loss of her husband (or wife for that matter) she simply liked black. It might seem like a stupid assumption, but her eyes didn’t look longingly at bright colors in envy, no she didn’t look at them at all. Her ring, though information was not shared, belonged to the fashion of Italian nobility. Stories arose in my head of fancy and love. But she never spoke so I wouldn’t know.


The man with dark skin was a gentleman if one could wear such a thing, for her surely did. Wide smile with caring eyes, generous hands and chivalry always there. He had almond shaped eyes colored a deep dark green, unusual to be seen surely here where race never mixed. He wore white slacks with a different solid t-shirt everyday. No designs or patterns on his clothes, just solid colors, everyday. He had to let at least three people in front of him daily on the bus, he had to touch three people on the shoulder everyday. He had OCD, a common disorder. But no one thought to ask why he carried three papers or had three rings, and had three watches. They thought he was odd and old others to stay away from him. They thought he was an insane black man. Actually he was just a gentleman with a common disorder.


Three little boys I called them but they must have been at least thirteen or fourteen. All the boys looked alike but none of them were blood. They all wore black band t-shirts with holes littering it, baggy acid washed jeans with knees missing showing off their hairy legs. Perhaps they were sixteen or fifteen. People probably assumed they were hoodlums with their almost all dark clothing and their piercings. But if one looked close enough you could see that one wore clip piercings on his lip and nose, one always was polite with his language if younger children were around. The other rarely talked, but he appeared with cuts and bruises on him- you could tell they weren’t accidental ones. Finger marks around his neck and specific areas attacked.


They all held stories, all the people around me here, but I couldn’t place the business woman. She appeared before everyone else and got off the bus last. Her hair was cut short and styled away from her made-up face. A normal female business suit, so much like all the others that waked the streets and entered taxis or cars. Her eyes seemed empty of their light brown color. Perhaps she lost a child or longed for one, her eyes would shine at the sight of a toddler or infant, and she would unconsciously rub her stomach.


My inner ramblings were startled by a newcomer, a man around my own age sitting right by me.
“Wonderful weather we’re having isn’t it”
“If you like clouds.”
“Is there something wrong with clouds?”
“Not if you’re a cloud.”
“I think they’re pretty.”
“I think they’re exquisite, but only if I’m a cloud.”
“Well are you a cloud?”
“Depends are you?”


He turned towards me and I was in shock, a very blunt man talking to me about being a cloud- how different. I caught a whiff of a long cherished smell, mulberries- they grow in the fall. I had forgotten all about those three staged berries that adapted anywhere. He smiled at me and caught my eyes with his.
I saw blue.