Fifth Journey Day 92: What the Packet Repeated
Date: August 8, 2025
Location: Karakol, Kyrgyzstan
I walked next to the Ak-Suu River today, just outside the town. The path was uneven but quiet, with tufts of grass pushing through cracks in the stone. The water was low in some areas, fast-moving in others, and shallow in still others. There is no dramatic scenery — just soft green colors, loose pebbles, and sometimes wildflowers in the wind. That felt right. After seeing so many days of domed cities and courtyards with no plants, it was a relief to be in a place that didn't seem to be a holy place.
A herder rode by on a bike, his sheep following behind. He nodded at me without stopping. I liked that — the quick, mutual acknowledgment without any weight or seriousness. There were apricot pits on the ground near a flat rock where I sat for some time. I didn't draw. I didn't really think. I just watched the light on the river's edge, and then it disappeared again. A child's voice could be heard from the other side of the water, but then it suddenly stopped.
What I remember most clearly is a crumpled plastic packet caught in a bush, fluttering slightly, but not torn. It wasn't beautiful, but it wasn't strange either. The wind made it move in small, regular movements — it would pause, then lift, then settle down again — like a forgotten ritual.
Today, I felt still, and I think that made things more complicated, but it also made things more open. I've been carrying too many impressions from the last few cities — colors, walls, and conversations still jostling for space. Here, the rhythm is slower. I'm not sleepy, just less urgent.
It feels like a place where you can just show up without having to explain yourself.
