Fifth Journey Day 71: What the Bird Saw

Date: July 18, 2025
Location: Kutaisi, Georgia

I spent most of the afternoon sitting in the garden next to Bagrati Cathedral. The light moved slowly, making soft arcs on the stone wall and the backs of the benches. From up high, the city looked folded—rooftops slanting into each other, trees nudging up between buildings, and the river glinting dully in the distance. It felt like the building was constructed over time, with breaks and changes.

The bench I found was warm, and the air felt dry but not too hot. Bees moved between the weeds, and the wind stirred the grass with enough force to sound like distant brushing — a subtle percussion behind the stillness. I took out my sketchbook, but I didn't rush to fill the page. I traced lines slowly, mostly negative space, angles of branches against a pale sky, and the sharp outline of a bird on a nearby cross.

A young boy passed by dragging a scooter behind him, the wheels making a noise as they hit the stone path. He looked at me, but he didn't say anything. Then he kept moving. That moment stayed with me. His glance felt like a soft interruption, not a disruption.

What I noticed most was how quiet this city feels above the noise — not silent, but quiet. Everything here seems to be slightly out of reach, like sound passing through fabric. I found myself sketching more slowly than usual, more interested in how things met: where shadows fell on mossed brick, how a discarded cup rested next to a bench without rolling.

I didn't want to go anywhere else after that. I let the drawings stay unfinished — as if to show that I'm still a work in progress. I'm still learning how to look.

There's a certain beauty in having this much time — it's not intense, but it's steady. I feel a little clearer, even if I'm not sure what it's clarifying.