Fifth Journey Day 58: Wrapper’s Rustle

Date: July 5, 2025
Location: Brașov, Romania

I spent the early afternoon walking along the narrow streets behind the Black Church, where the walls are so close that it feels like the world is quiet. Each surface, whether it was stone, brick, or plaster, showed a different version of time. Some of the patches had been repainted, others had been worn down, and a few crumbled easily. I didn't try to draw anything that was complete. It's just the textures that are different. It's just lines. The place where iron and wood meet. The crack that veers off, as if it's thinking of something else.

I've already replayed one moment — the edge of a camera shutter was slightly open, showing a sock on the porch, drying in the shade. It wasn't decorated or set up for a photo shoot, but it was beautiful in a way I can't describe. It's useful without being pretentious.

I felt relaxed, and I think I have figured out how to go with the flow in a new place without expecting too much. I didn't go to any churches or museums today. I let the streets be enough. I once sat on a stone step that was not very deep. I listened to a sparrow move a paper wrapper.

I've been thinking a lot about surfaces lately. Not in a superficial way — more in the sense of how things last when they are exposed. Rain, footsteps, weather, disregard. There's something admirable about a surface that doesn't try to draw attention to itself, but instead quietly takes on the responsibility of attracting it.

I haven't decided if I'll stay here a few days or keep moving. But for now, it's evening. Dogs are barking across rooftops, shutters are closing, and the sound of heels on cobblestones is becoming quiet.

It feels like a city that doesn't perform for you. You have to walk slowly, or you'll miss it.