I just returned from a walk in the early morning.
It was not early enough, for the moments between night and dawn had already passed. That magic void between light and darkness, when it feels as though the forces of the day are besieging the night, who is gradually expelled. When the battles rage silently in a frozen world, only embodied by the lanterns whose shine gradually fades, being engulfed by the ghostly radiance of the sun. The golden shadows they cast on the dark blue plaster are devoured into the grey monotony of a world between worlds, while the battle cries of the two times mute the rest of the air, shrouding it in a most calming silence setting the stages for the so easily overheard gentle whisper of the leaves in the light breeze and the endlessly motioning waves of the river.
Alas, I had come too late for the siege of the night. Its forces were already retreating, and only the thinnest veil remaining upon the land indicated its former presence. The light had captured the lanterns and becoming obsolete they were turned off far too quickly. And yet the sun had not yet performed its triumphant march into the captured fortress, and its inhabitants still remained cowering in their sheets, letting the silence echo through the still empty streets.
When I went down to the Rhine, I was delighted to see that his water level had reached its former height. No longer were the barren scars of the drought tainting his shores, and he had reclaimed the land he once paved into the rocks. Like an old friend recovering from an illness to see him having regained his strength was heartening. He had, however, left me a small dry space beneath the flight of stairs leading down to him, where I would stay to stare out into his waters. So crystal clear it was at its outer reaches, not hiding the rubble and stones beneath his waves but having laid his fatherly hands upon them as to shield them from any evil, stroking them lovingly with his endearing waves.
O to stand by his side blesses the time spent there. I would compare it to the one spent with a lover, but this would be wrong. Within the sight of his rippling surface the time is washed away in a most kind manner, running down the mighty stream without you noticing it was missing, as all your worries and doubts were carried away with it leaving you in but the admiration for his beauty, pouring out minute after minute. Whereas to be with a loved one is nothing like this. Normally, whether one has fun or is grieving, the time is torn from you violently. Without noticing, hours have passed, and all they leave behind are a void (one which the river at least floods with his diamond-like fluid). Like the grains of sand in an hourglass second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour rain down the endless abyss of one's life, escaping one's grasp and piling up at the bottom like the dirt they are. But the moment one rests next to the side of a beloved one, these grains of sand turn into gold dust. Shining most brightly whenever they flow down the stream of time, so valuable and beautiful that you want to hold on to them. No, it's more akin to honey. The usual stream of empty water pouring down the days turns golden and stringy, not simply rushing past unnoticeable but slowly stretching out, bestowing upon you the blessing of being able to enjoy the most endlessly sweet taste of every millimetre it moves, mesmerising you with its golden colour, making one desire to not just let it run by without indulging most deeply in it. Every second prolongs and seems to extend into a much longer period of time, becoming filled with the bliss which not hours could grant one.
I need to take walks more often, for they are so infinitely fulfilling. They seem to fix all that is wrong, bridging the gaps between my thoughts, the wind blowing out the dust having collected in my mind. If there is a chain connecting me to the world and its flow, then these walks are the missing links. Completing the connection and once again making me one with myself and existence.
It was not early enough, for the moments between night and dawn had already passed. That magic void between light and darkness, when it feels as though the forces of the day are besieging the night, who is gradually expelled. When the battles rage silently in a frozen world, only embodied by the lanterns whose shine gradually fades, being engulfed by the ghostly radiance of the sun. The golden shadows they cast on the dark blue plaster are devoured into the grey monotony of a world between worlds, while the battle cries of the two times mute the rest of the air, shrouding it in a most calming silence setting the stages for the so easily overheard gentle whisper of the leaves in the light breeze and the endlessly motioning waves of the river.
Alas, I had come too late for the siege of the night. Its forces were already retreating, and only the thinnest veil remaining upon the land indicated its former presence. The light had captured the lanterns and becoming obsolete they were turned off far too quickly. And yet the sun had not yet performed its triumphant march into the captured fortress, and its inhabitants still remained cowering in their sheets, letting the silence echo through the still empty streets.
When I went down to the Rhine, I was delighted to see that his water level had reached its former height. No longer were the barren scars of the drought tainting his shores, and he had reclaimed the land he once paved into the rocks. Like an old friend recovering from an illness to see him having regained his strength was heartening. He had, however, left me a small dry space beneath the flight of stairs leading down to him, where I would stay to stare out into his waters. So crystal clear it was at its outer reaches, not hiding the rubble and stones beneath his waves but having laid his fatherly hands upon them as to shield them from any evil, stroking them lovingly with his endearing waves.
O to stand by his side blesses the time spent there. I would compare it to the one spent with a lover, but this would be wrong. Within the sight of his rippling surface the time is washed away in a most kind manner, running down the mighty stream without you noticing it was missing, as all your worries and doubts were carried away with it leaving you in but the admiration for his beauty, pouring out minute after minute. Whereas to be with a loved one is nothing like this. Normally, whether one has fun or is grieving, the time is torn from you violently. Without noticing, hours have passed, and all they leave behind are a void (one which the river at least floods with his diamond-like fluid). Like the grains of sand in an hourglass second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour rain down the endless abyss of one's life, escaping one's grasp and piling up at the bottom like the dirt they are. But the moment one rests next to the side of a beloved one, these grains of sand turn into gold dust. Shining most brightly whenever they flow down the stream of time, so valuable and beautiful that you want to hold on to them. No, it's more akin to honey. The usual stream of empty water pouring down the days turns golden and stringy, not simply rushing past unnoticeable but slowly stretching out, bestowing upon you the blessing of being able to enjoy the most endlessly sweet taste of every millimetre it moves, mesmerising you with its golden colour, making one desire to not just let it run by without indulging most deeply in it. Every second prolongs and seems to extend into a much longer period of time, becoming filled with the bliss which not hours could grant one.
I need to take walks more often, for they are so infinitely fulfilling. They seem to fix all that is wrong, bridging the gaps between my thoughts, the wind blowing out the dust having collected in my mind. If there is a chain connecting me to the world and its flow, then these walks are the missing links. Completing the connection and once again making me one with myself and existence.
