“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.”