Prague quickly became an innate part of my being. For a long while, every movement was a reaction to the city around me. It triggered thought and idea across a generously vast plane- just an endless stream of stimuli buying for my attention and for their presence on paper. It was much too difficult to choose those I would nurture through my writing, and those I would have to leave behind at the expense of discovery by the next passerby. And so, I did my best, as I had done with Prague’s people, to capture the essence of the city as I saw it- separate from all former and future recollections.
I started with the cobblestones.
During those first months, my feet did not take well to these awkward formations. I struggled across the uneven terrain, and the unfamiliarity of the surface caused me frustration.
But not moving was not an option. And so, I reacted.
I withdrew a stone one summer evening from its position on Kovaku. It accompanied me on the spiraled walk up to my apartment where once inside I positioned it on the railing of my balcony. Overlooking the southeastern side of the city, I studied the stone in respect to the cityscape I had created behind it. Its solidarity contrasted against the uneven, chaotic, and colorful mess that made up the backdrop. Before my eyes lay the iconic red and cream trams, passing by rows of baroque buildings; smoke from the Staropromen brewery billowing against a sea of red terracotta roofs; and a lone steeple, stretching in an attempt to match the height of the T.V. tower in the distance. From this perspective, the uneven mess was most beautiful- far more alluring than the bulky, cold, gray obstruction I had placed in front of it.
However, when I placed the stone back among its fellow stones, I realized that it too was part of the enticing unevenness that I had witnessed from my balcony. Separate it was useless, but as part of a cobblestone street, it kept alive the spirit of a city long-deserving of free expressionism. And in realizing this truth, I made my first observation of Prague.
The cobblestone bothered me no more.
Excerpt from "For Now, an Untitled Story"
1 comment:
Ever since I learned of it, I've been fascinated by the fact that the cobblestones in Savannah (and, I presume, other coastal cities) were the ballast from the ships that sailed there empty. When it was time to leave, laden with whatever cargo they were meant to carry, the ships swapped ballast for goods and went on their way. Where did the cobblestones in Prague come from?
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