Cold gray Istanbul
morning. My collar turned up against the
wind. Passing hordes of black-coated men
and women heads bent against the cold. Carefully sidestepping puddles and those
nasty little loose bricks and cobblestones that splatter pants legs and skirt
bottoms with dirty-gray polka dots, I look up to see a young man sprinting
across the busy street. High cheek bones
and narrow oblong eyes - like a young Turkmen Olympiad he lightly lays both
hands atop the iron railing of the Tarlabasi Boulevard traffic island barricade
and in one lithe moment vaults up and over, his lean body momentarily sideways breaking
gravity. His dark-blue windbreaker flapping up behind him, then down. He pierces the gray morning with an act of
heart-rending grace, slicing through the dull gray morning with a Technicolor act
of nonchalant beauty. Smiling, I gaze after him, and then continue on my way,
stepping more lightly over the puddles.
