Fifth Journey Day 77: The Ant and the Border
Date: July 24, 2025
Location: Atyrau, Kazakhstan
The river didn't seem to have any messages for me. It just moved — slowly and grayish-green, like it had accepted its own weight. I walked along the raised bank of land this afternoon, sketchbook in hand. It wasn't about drawing. I didn't really sit down. I just let the pencil mark the page when something caught my eye — a rusted mooring ring, a plastic bottle lodged between two stones, the faint outline of a ship's hull on the opposite bank. The drawings are almost illegible. I think that's okay.
The sun was strong, but not too strong. Shadows felt like quiet decisions — deliberate and soft-edged. At one point, I stopped under a crooked tree and listened. There's a creaking sound from a pipe in the distance, and I can hear people talking. I also hear the loud sound of a scooter going too fast. I didn't feel like I had to be anywhere.
It's odd how this city — flat, tan, and industrial at first glance — displayed its own kind of patience. Even the cranes looked like paused thoughts, not machines. The buildings are beige and sand-colored. They have air conditioners on their outside.
When I got back to the guesthouse, I rinsed my face and laid my sketchbook open to dry. A single ant walked across one page, then circled back. I watched it for longer than I planned. It's a day when every little movement feels significant, or maybe I'm just noticing things differently.
I didn't paint today, but I felt better. Something happened inside, like a table finally cleared. Maybe tomorrow I'll start with that quiet.
