Traces of the leaves, which once embellished dreary pavements of the city, but had long been blown away by November, now caught my attention with their clear-cut contours. The grown-misted matter and so does temporality, and fate… fate writes novels, accidents should in fact consider putting its quill to paper and write short stories unlike instantaneous thoughts that do living.
Thus, those leaf-stamps contained more divine sense than those pedestrians who rushed somewhere absorbed in their routine that squeezed the entire being out of them. Pedestrians pass, timeish, and an endlessly tiny part of them and the surroundings is reminiscent, isn’t it, it is.
Maybe for that reason I took such a fancy to those used-to-be-leaves – they had history, they became part of eternity. Caught it? no, too young to catch, precious memories don’t pile up in my, his head yet, too good, too early. Whenever, wherever… Shocks my ear. Amargo – not for every auricula. A chimerical ear on a roof in Barcelona would hear it properly and cheer the sensual spectacle right, it deserves.
With these thoughts in mind I stroll on when suddenly the boulevard ends – just in due time for me to have an admiring look at the sky above my head. And then I downwards cast me eye, the sky domes the beauty and incarnates it itself.
Such valuable moments are carved in our hearts forever – as if you take a photo with your inner vision. Never will it go wrong once you’ve agreed upon perceiving easiness in the hardest of ways.
November 22, 2012
A leaf drooped and then seemed to have made no effort to break away and fall before them with such an instant of effrontery. The poplar was not to blame for that – the leaf should have been more faithful to the branch it had always stemmed from and could have stemmed from for tree-time to come, had it not been for its wildeish yielding-to-temptation philosophy which eventually led it to falling victim to ever-seducing wind. Good leaf! escaped freedom, well done! They walked on.
Naughty leaf! How dared it distract them from their mental brooding! At heart, the poor fellow enabled them to trump up a proper excuse not to brood for a while. So they hit upon whiling away their time under the poplar – the crowns of their heads leaning against the trunk – them taking a mirror posture. Not that they were benefitting sitting like that, but something could definitely come down like a bolt from the blue, from the tree.
– Like an apple on Newton?
– No, mate, it’s a poplar!
April 11, 2012
Hoggish sun, stealing from me my skittish and jocose, womanlike shadow. Angelic cumuli… floating in the lazuline sea. Gently carried by ever-caressing Zephyrus. No names, no aliases – to be, to be!
Puff-puff – the cherubim have thinned away. They’ve gone, they’ll come – the opposites remain. The delicate bedsheet-white flakes will soon grow into majestic clouds to clad the empyrean. They might fall down afterwards to match every empire, like a man off a zebra. Off the one with mocha stripes. El signo de la vida, of proper life.
When nothing can be juxtaposed, life has its taste. Mmm… delicious.
March 24, 2012