Beans falling from the kitchen counter. Clang, the plate falls down Thud, my mother falls after.
The lady clasped the bag of beans closer to herself, the bogey swayed and shook its way out of the station.
Both of us got out at the same station. Her husband and two tiny mite children waited on a sputtering scooter.
Long, curved green-they fell in slow motion, a dance to a symphony another world heard.
Only the husband wore a helmet. I stood watching them at the stairs of the station.
I imagined them to skid off a slippery turning and crash into a bus. Only the husband lives to see his family dying below a bus.
If you look for it hard enough, you will find it everywhere. Once you see it, you see it everywhere. Stitched in the fabric of the life you live. The places you see, the people you meet.
For me it was- Beans.