I ran on empty roads for my early morning run. No traffic. No bajai's lined up waiting for passengers. Even the flower stalls opened later than sunrise. The stillness and absence of the normal hustle and bustle was almost eerie.
As I rounded one corner along my route, I faced a crowd of Indonesians pouring out of a nearby Mosque. The women wore long white dresses and veils. The children were adorned in bright colors: hot pinks, turquoise, lilacs.
Then men donned batik sarongs. Many carried individual prayer rugs, rolled and tucked under their arms. They smiled and talked amongst themselves as they returned to their homes for their Idul Fitri feast.
The road in front of the Mosque was covered tip to tip with prayer rugs - evidence of the large holiday crowd that exceeded the normal capacity of the building. I stopped at the first long green rug - my route was completely blocked. I watched as men began to roll the rugs. The men were barefoot - their shoes lined up neatly outside the Mosque. I wondered if I should turn around and finish running another direction. But I decided, instead, to remove my running shoes out of politeness and walk along the outer edge in my stocking feet.
I carried my running shoes in my hand. I felt the cushion of the rugs and cardboard boxes beneath my feet.
The men rolling the rugs greeted me with smiles and salutations of "good morning" (Salamat Pagi) and "Happy Idul Fitri" (Salamat Hari Raya Idul Fitri). Their faces were bright and inviting.
Having passed the Mosque, I bent over and put my shoes back on.
The feeling of the morning was wonderful. And I felt so grateful to be here, to have caught a glimpse of beauty and celebration on this last Idul Fitri.
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