Saturday, September 8, 2012

Writing spell

Writing spell unceremoniously drags you out of your cosy sleep. Things that are ready to see the light of day need you to give them a form to exist. The sounds translate into words and keep pouring through your fingertips until there's nothing left to say.

Its unyielding power is bigger than you or anything else, bossing you around until the purpose is achieved and you may go back to sleep feeling unconsciously relieved. Until the next powerful tag overwhelms you to write again.

Beauty

Beauty is illusive. 
Sometimes you need to look for it using all your powers of observation. At times it is unexpectedly striking and edgy, taking your breath away, almost painful to look at. 
It's baffling and surprisingly disturbing, leaving long traces of contradicting emotions on its wake. 
On other days it's simple, soft and mellow like an afternoon light on a shortest winter day reassuring you of spring coming eventually and giving you patience to trust and wait. Like pages from an old letter of a dear friend you haven't seen in years, cosy and comforting in its permanent presence. 

One thing is certain - it's out there, obvious to the eye or hiding in shadows. 
Looking for it is always a discovery of something new that escapes superficial glances. 
The inner light it gives to all shapes and colors of all things that surround us. It's like finding something to warm your heart in the darkest of moments, something to hold on to, like a life preserver, cherish its delicacy and variability that doesn't seize to amaze.

Seasons

Autumn is coming, despite the unending heat, still loud cicada's songs, deeply green leaves, short sleeves and wishes for cooler days.
It's a premonition, the feeling of the season aging slowly and inevitably like anyone or anything we know. And because it is time. 
You know it when the sun starts looking at you from a slightly different angle. Shortening hours of the day and cooler nights, few dry golden leaves here and there, lying on the ground lightly scratching the surface of a street, adding another color to the whole composition. The pace is slowing down like a train coming to the final stop. 
The slow motion of the change is comforting. No one is in a hurry to immerse in a new season. We all know what's behind it. It will be cold and long winter (or at least it'll seem longer than necessary, as it often does).
Soaking up the sun, hesitating to give up summer attire to more calendar-appropriate choices, avoiding the inevitable sadness of upcoming months, holding on to the fresh memories and not letting go...yet once again anticipating each step of yearly cycle as given without an argument or a wish of change.