It was 6 PM on an early autumn evening, a time when the day was ending. The city lights were hurriedly turned on before darkness fully settled, spreading endlessly and densely. My mind, like the city lights, was filled with thoughts that were continuously sparked before one could fade, leading to another.
What if my life were to start from now? Though I am not a Catholic, I often found myself sitting on a wooden bench in the yard of the local cathedral, pondering such thoughts. That day, I was sitting there again. The pedestrian signal at the crosswalk in front of the cathedral turned green, and an elderly man in a wheelchair was pushing himself across the short crosswalk with the determination of a marathon runner. Behind him, a woman who seemed to be his wife was pushing an empty stroller with a hunched posture, following him across the street. Despite the woman's slow movements, she quickly overtook the elderly man and reached the sidewalk first, much like the fable of the tortoise and the hare. I wondered if I should offer my bench to the elderly couple as they entered the cathedral grounds, but to my surprise, they went straight into the cathedral instead.
What I saw that day was the city's lights, the evening sky tinged with the red of the sunset, and the white cathedral along with the elderly couple. The white cathedral, in particular, stood out, glowing vividly white even as evening fell. It appeared strangely eerie, untouched by the red hue of the sunset that covered the sky.