Rarasaur challenges us to write in someone else’s shoes.
Here I offer a Split Perspective, the same situation from two viewpoints in Flash mode.
‘Good weather for ducks,’ he heard the old tramp say with false enthusiasm.The surgeon stopped to watch as several mallards squabbled noisily over chunks of store bought sliced bread as the rain cranked up a gear and began to drive horizontally. Turning his face leeward enabled him to see the old fellow’s beak of a nose with a drip of body fluid or perhaps rain hanging on the end. He wore a battered black beret, licks of grey greasy hair forcibly restrained by the leather headband, shoulders hunched, his bony fingers clawing at the bread in the wrapper with little precision scattering crumbs all around his once white trainers. Probably unemployed and perhaps homeless he thought.‘I don’t suppose the ducks like this weather anymore than we do. I suspect they too would rather have a bright sunny summer’s day to this.’ The beret glanced furtively in the direction of the speaker with a look that might have been pity. ‘They have the advantage of waterproof feathers and probably don’t entertain thoughts about the relative merits of dry and wet days.’He looked at his watch, turned and set off for his appointment.
The composer liked to be out in the rain; its melancholy set his creative mind at ease. He thought of water as a restorative element, necessary for all life. To feed the ducks was a welcome distraction.Time away from composing was as valuable as composing itself – a change is better than a rest. ‘Good weather for ducks,’ he offered positively to a man with an umbrella that stopped to watch him lob bits of bread for the ducks to squabble over as sheets of wind and rain gaining in strength.The man began some idle chatter he was unable to hear clearly against the roar of the wind. He turned his head briefly. He saw a pinched face screwed up as if pained by the inclemency of the winter weather. He wondered why this man was walking alone in the rain with no apparent purpose. Maybe he had an argument with his wife or had time to kill before catching a train. A dark suit beneath the expensive coat suggested a business man, someone whose motivation was making money off the backs of others.
He saw the man look at his watch, turn and walked away. The composer couldn’t imagine a life without creative purpose.