Today, the morning touching midday rises still brisk but sunny. I find imposing the contrast between the Winter lost warmth splashed now and then against my hands while the acrid fresh breeze drains it slowly and simultaneously. It’s a balance between the two most primal energies, and this natural clash disturbs me, makes me think so that I may perceive its purpose, maybe its hidden nature. If content I would appreciate the beauty surrounding wildlife’s randomness, if distressed I’d envy its unemotionality and unsuccessfully work on absorbing it somehow, be not only one with nature, but impersonate it to lose my innate and percase auto-destructive humanity.
The cold air and longer nights swamping the inevitably more gloomy December, the lack of heat soothes the overdone mind, for boiling water can’t ever stop its rising proclivity, it’s Physics, it’s nature’s entropy and what is natural may never be reigned by us. That’s the simplest reality, reasoning with me, showing to a man how easily we could master ourselves if only we would grasp what’s evident and swallow it, degust the sparks of raw hypersensibility entrained along its entrails, smell the damp mist and drink a little of sea water, get to know the flavour of what exists somewhere between the words ethereal and eternal.
Look outside neglectful of the dirt spots on your old window, forget them just as the world tends to erase the ever-recurring possibility of improbability, gaze the sky as if it was the ocean, and you’ll experience their similarities.
In the end, life shouldn’t consist of regular concreteness constantly trying to define its inconsistency, to struggle discerning the beautiful impossibility you are right now is to waste a time you don’t have, let life bring itself towards you while you merely sit, walk, run or crouch barefoot, friends with the approaching crest of a wave that will whiten the ground before you, in a while, and you’ll then taste its salt and thin brittle sand spotted texture, spectate a flimsy colour that vanishes as your hands spoon it. Your tongue touches it, your mind assimilates the aroma, your soul feels tipsy from such strange incident, you realize that everything is as tenuous as it ultimately seems and never more than whatever their inherent composition craves to be held or seen as, an ephemeral entity luckily pervaded by an airy sense of being, a being that should be let free, always, never calculated.