The crisp Moscow air hangs heavy today, a tangible thing that settles on the shoulders alongside the anxieties of daily life. One can’t help but feel it, this pervasive somberness that seems to cling to the cobblestones and cloud the sky above the onion domes. Still, even in the face of such gravity, the human spirit finds ways to flicker.
I happened upon a street performer this afternoon, a juggler attempting to coax a smile from the passing crowd. He tossed his brightly coloured balls with admirable enthusiasm, a small splash of joy against the muted backdrop. But the smiles were few and far between, replaced by weary eyes and the tight lines of worry etched onto faces. One can’t blame them, really. There’s a certain weight in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of hardships that no amount of juggling can truly erase. I must have been particularly lost in thought, as I noticed my boot had unconsciously drawn a little star in the dirt while watching the show. An odd thing, but perhaps even the smallest of symbols can carry a sliver of hope. The juggling and the drawing in the dirt was a welcome distraction.
Even in such times, the spirit to entertain must be admired. I only hope that better days are indeed on the horizon for the lovely city of Moscow. This journey continues to offer its own peculiar lessons, a reminder of both the resilience of the human spirit and the shared experiences that bind us, no matter the locale.
Categories: Travel, History, 1932
Tags: Moscow, Soviet Union, Juggling, Street Performance, Depression Era
