“The birds were flying around him this morning, as he walked by the river to the coffee shop. Gliding white birds and the subtle flow and drizzle of the water. One of his favorite memories from the mountains was a small river falling off a steep cliff, and the water drops dancing downwards in free fall, with random movements and creating a whole little contained spectacle. It was a beautiful little spectacle of nature, and mostly unseen and not related to anything. Just water falling, drops spreading, mostly reaching the ground deep below, and some evaporating into thin air. “
As he looked up some tiny rays of sunshine were cutting through the clouds and putting a sweet glow on the soft surface of a pink flower. He loved this part of the park, a modest little walking path with carefully tended flowers on each side. It had a nice effect of calm and peace, and he walked through it from time to time, always thinking that he should do it more often, and often surprised and reminded by the effortless beauty of some careful ornaments of nature.
“He loved being at home and listening to the rain with a cup of tea, sensing the fresh air that was soon to fill the streets, and the calm and nuanced mood that entered his mind. It was a little break, almost like a short little sleep, and it always felt wonderful afterwards. As more things were happening around him at once, there was less time or space to see the different elements that were slowly evolving in him, but he felt good and was just letting the falling raindrops fill his mind and be everything for a few moments. The whole mind just as falling raindrops and little splashes as each drop reached the ground and exploded in thousands of tiny bits of water, in slow motion rupturing the thin surface of the drop as the bulging middle tore it open and silently threw the thousands of bits in all directions in an instant before a little delay, and then the soft sound of a splash, right afterwards. And then hundreds of new splashes all at once. A torrent. He loved the rain.”
“He heard the voices of his friends, closed his eyes, and took a first little sip of the coffee. The sun was warming in his face, and on his arms too. The sweet background of people chatting and little sounds of a spoon touching a saucer, feeling the sun, relaxing in the whole body, he loved these little moments of pure bliss and happiness. The mind was slowly swirling with long gone memories of beautiful views of coast lines in boiling heat, the water sparkling and shimmering, and with flowers in red and white in the foreground, and the feelings of emancipation and freedoms… or from the summer days of youth, on a little pier, in the early morning hours with the sea as a smooth mirror surface of blue skies and little droplets of sun, closing his eyes and loving to be alive.”
“More rays of sunshine were filling the flower bed now, and the marvel and wealth of colors amazed him. It vaguely reminded him of a diving trip once, on a beautiful sunny day of warm waters, endless blue skies and clear and sparkling fresh sea, wast blue oceans, and then right beneath the surface, an intensity and spectacle of thousands of swimming fish, a sea floor filled with sea stars and other sea animals in delightful and vital spectrums of colors he had never seen before. “
As he sat down in the peaceful park his mind started to drift as usual. Swaths of hidden memories and past joys bubbled up from the deep as he watched the ducks glide along the clear calm surface of the lake. Some thoughts were clear and vivid, others more muddled and fragmented, some with strong emotions still, while yet again others strangely remote and neutral after the passing of time and changes in life rendering them distant and beautiful but other like. Ever since he was a little child he had loved the peace of a small lake in the park.
And the day had just begun.
“Suddenly there came a long stretch of sunny days again. Waking up in a light and bright mood, the patches of sunlight moving in slow motion over the floor carpet and walls, sometimes even laying a small strip of white glowing energy over the bed, making the first little glimpse of day a delightful and beautiful moment, that could last for hours into the day.”
“One day when he lived there he woke up a bit early. Outside there was a thin layer of snow, and the sun was carefully trickling through the curtains and made a glowing line of bright yellow on the soft carpet next to the bed. The air was transparent with small shining particles slowly descending into the small strip of light, and a calm and refreshing silence filled the room.
These mornings were one among his favorites. It always gave him a good start on a bright new day.
At times life could be a long string of days like that, fresh and crisp, with subtle beauty and little wonders of nature like the tiny soft snow flakes covering the streets and roof tops. The sun shining a warm blanket over the village, and some scattered points of chimney smoke carefully dissolving into the blue skies, with some small groups of birds gliding over the neighborhoods. The river silently drawing a thin blue line through the village, and the horizons a bit waving in the contrasts over a cold arid landscape and the slowly warming skies.
These beautiful scenes had been repeated thousands of times over the centuries, with the little village growing from nothing into a bustling little town, and seeing the constant flow of lifetimes coming and going, some in silence and some in turmoil, some in joy and some in ease, some in hardships and some in unfairness, some in absence while others in presence, all with the flow of kings and mayors, wars and peace, philosophical strains of humanity, bigger events in history and nature, and the ever relentless passing of time and change.”
“Then at times, the wide open horizons unfolded in life once again. A sudden change, a little trip, a change of scenery, some mountains or lakes or open fields of beautiful scenery, some peaceful animals and rolling hills and fresh air.
It could be blended into the usual habits and rituals of daily life, peaceful hours of reading or staying in touch with old friends, easy chats or deep interesting talks with new people, a quiet walk in modest nature, or sipping the coffee carefully from a new cup in a new place, or the same one for a while, a cup you had gotten a bit familiar with over some days, or some months, or perhaps even one with strong emotions connected to it, from the person who gave it to you, the time you bought it, or some specific talks or moments which were still quietly and firmly a part of the cup – and subtly remembered or felt at times clearly, but mostly unconsciosly but slightly influencing the mood or the tenor of the feelings, silently infusing some tiny blobs of emotions, briefly felt but sometimes lingering for hours, adding some little color or aspect to the perception of the world, to how you see and feel the room around you, or how you experience the people and streets, the sounds, and your own thoughts.”