see ya later, Augustine

The click of my high-heeled shoes against the wet cobble stone cut through the still, afternoon air and announced our presence before our arrival as we walked down a narrow Brussels sidewalk. We made our way through the residential streets in a zigzag pattern, my comrades refused to admit we were lost, how could we be? We had a map.

We entered onto a more populated street lined with lower middle class businesses and empty store fronts and quickened our pace as a chill in the air gave way to scattered raindrops which increased in number and intensity as we neared our destination.

The graying sky matched the atmosphere of the city and my mood perfectly as the pinch in my arch painfully made itself known. I silently cursed myself for not opting to catch a cab back to the hotel.

Miserable, I trudged along; head down, shoulders slumped until I caught sight of a window that stopped me in my tracks.

Behind dusty glass was a deconstructed scene not far from photos I have seen of villages turned to rubble post WWII. Overturned and broken furniture sat on a platform of cracked concrete, half buried in dust and other debris. Less than a foot from the window rested an old chandelier half hidden in a pile of trash and dust.

The rusted, ugly fixture bore little resemblance to its cousins I had visited days prior in their grand Parisian settings as it glinted pitifully in the waning evening light. Despite its unsightliness, the old chandelier in the shop window held more honesty than the beauty and glory of those at Versailles and the Notre Dame Cathedral.

The juxtaposition of youth and beauty to old-age and wear on inanimate objects is easily relatable to the human condition. The faint glimmer of the rusted chandelier told me to keep on keeping on, to enjoy my youth, because I will grow old and my body will break.

The scene through the window spoke clearly: relish the moment, even if it takes place in a cold rain punctuated by foot pain.