Fifth Journey Day 90: Traced Around a Falling Leaf

Date: August 6, 2025
Location: Fergana, Uzbekistan

I spent the morning in a teahouse courtyard shaded by grapevines. The light came in through the window, and it was soft and warm. It hit the tiles and the table, making them look a little bit different colors. I ordered black tea and watched the steam rise slowly and thinly in the warm air. There was an older man sitting next to me, reading a newspaper that had been folded into thirds. We didn't say anything.

I brought my sketchbook, but I didn't open it for a while. My hand moved back and forth once, then stopped. Sometimes, just watching something can feel more intense than doing something. Silence can be more powerful than words sometimes. When I did start sketching, I drew the shadow of the spoon on the saucer instead of the vines or the tea. Then the fold of a napkin. Then nothing at all.

There's something about the pace of this city. Fergana doesn't rush. It lingers, offering small things as entry points: apricots ripening over the fence, the uneven rhythm of a bicycle bell, a cat's tail disappearing under a truck. It reminds me of the early mornings in Tofino, where the mist made everything soft and blurry. Here, it's the heat that softens things up — making it harder to breathe and looking more intense.

I didn't go anywhere else today. I stayed in that small square of space and let it shift around me. The ceiling fan sounded like a metronome. At one point, a leaf fell off a tree and landed on my sketchbook. I traced around it and closed the book.

Tonight, I feel still. It's not empty, it's just suspended. It's a quiet that doesn't need to be filled. I think this is the right state to carry into tomorrow.