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