Fifth Journey Day 63: Widening Between Words
Date: July 10, 2025
Location: Comrat, Moldova
The day went by slowly. I arrived in Comrat without any specific expectations. I was just open to whatever the city had to offer. The town feels both modest and steady, almost untouched by urgency. Even the traffic seems to move carefully, as though trying not to disturb something invisible.
After a short rest, I walked to the edge of town, where the fields were. The soil was chalky in some places and soft in others. It was covered with bristling weeds and patches of gold-dry grass. I looked at the ground more than the horizon. There's something comforting in noticing what's overlooked — a bent stalk, a pebble pressed into cracked earth, a broken seed husk.
I collected a few small things and carefully placed them in my sketchbook. I put a feather that looked like ash, a wilted flower, and a bit of crumbling earth in there. The wind never picked up. Everything was still, as if the day wasn't supposed to move quickly.
It felt good to not explain anything. There are no signs, stories, or paintings yet. It's just the quiet satisfaction of having spent time in a place without changing it.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll remember these places clearly. I'm not talking about the landmarks or names, but about how they made me feel. This town feels like a book that someone started writing on, then paused — and left space for someone else to continue. Today, I simply read that pause.
There are no conversations or events, only a constant presence. As evening comes, it seems that this is enough.
