an autumn day
warm sun on my face
traveling back in time
scrolling through the remains of a revolved past
chasing light through photography
Is it the endless shades of color, the wide range of shapes, the never-ending discoveries or the beauty to behold?
All of this, yes.
But first and foremost, the underlying but so powerful urge to live and grow of every living being.
As a silent river that runs deep deep down, who sometimes whispers and sometimes roars, forever carrying its morse code message from cell to cell.
Seeking shelter on a rainy afternoon,
I ended up in an unexpected parallel dimension,
warm and humid,
where silence reigned and time seemed to have stopped.
No birds or animal sounds.
No wind among the leaves.
Just the sound of water hissing from somewhere.
And within this silence,
one could almost feel all these green creatures,
big and small, breathe and grow.
Each one in its own particular way.
But all turned towards the light.
Going back to this square, tiptoeing. So many people, flowers, candels. Flashes and cameras everywhere as in a morbid reality show. Being tempted to back away. Finding strenght and holding one’s hand to thread sidewalks that have long been familiar and friendly. In summertime, wintertime. Alone, with friends. Eyes wide open. To not let anything go unseen. Making myself go back once, twice, three, four times until the fear is under control. Covered in new laughters and memories.
Because Life is so beautiful still. And there is still so much so see and live and cherish. Because Life isn’t shorter or more fragile today than it was before. It was and still is one blink of the eye. There are no more or less questions, or certainties. Except that there is Light and there are shadows. We only have the power to use our freedom to look for the Light even in the darkest hour. And to carry it forward.
Peace out, friends.
It’s not often, that’s the least one can say.
But for this very reason, when it does happen to spot a perfect blue sky up above our heads, what a joy, what a surprise!
Then the oh so familiar rooftops and buildings suddenly shine differently. And in no time we, poor Southeners stranded in this usually (beautiful but) so grey city, dash outside to enjoy the sun; we gather in the parcs and along the river banks, kicking off our shoes and rolling up our sleaves as if in the middle of summer.
And while we are there, our heads turned upwards and our eyes closed, soaking every bit of warmth in because we know so well that it won’t last forever, each time we find ourselves sighing: Paris is such a beautiful city after all…