It is, isn’t it?
Here at the window, watching the sunset, with the book on the windowsill, head placed on top of the arm, feeling the heat of the sun on the face.
The breeze on the skin, combing the pores.
The quiet of the birds, gliding in the air. Flapping their wings.
The colours painted in the clouds. Their infinitely diverse shapes.
The touch of the light and smooth paper sheet. The act of writing, where the ink stays immortalized.
The beautiful music that plays and makes the moment better appreciated. More gently or intensely.
What a privilege it is to be alive and to feel. Even after the sun has set and the air gets colder, there’s something in the air. Another day has passed.
What a privilege is its to see and hear. The melody behind the lyrics. The resonance of writing beyond the words. The shapes in the clouds beyond their colour. The invisible pattern in the texture of the paper. The drawing in the fur of animals. The hidden stories in the marks of our skin. The colour in the shadows. The soul in the look. The solar wind dissipating. The serenity and comfort as we feel our own smile in the face and eyes.
The years of the Earth in a waterfall, mountains, and trees. Flowing through all. Flowing through all of us. The eternity of the Universe. Stars that deposited in our existence.
What a privilege it is to be!
3rd April 2020
