Bookmark #741

Lately, I have stumbled upon a second wind regarding the hope I have for this life and my place in it. There seems to be a rejuvenated obsession with the life I live. The raindrops have dropped all year, but only now have I felt them fall on my face. I have found myself pausing in awe at the smallest of things. Just the other day on the flight, I sat with my eyes half open and no clue of the time; my wits were around, but perhaps they had gotten up to take a walk along the aisle to stretch themselves, and I found myself in the common daze that one often finds themselves on journeys. Just then, the music in my ears appealed to me like it had not in ages, and until the wheels found their footing on the tarmac, did it leave me. And for all that time, I could only think of how much I enjoy music, of how grateful I am for it—life ebbs and flows, of course. I seem to have climbed slowly out of a trough. There, I see it; there is a peak, but I am not there yet. These are but days of climbing to ecstatic joy. I plan to take my time; I plan to stop to tighten my laces and look up at the view.

Little comes to mind today. There is no need for me to waste any more words. It was a day quite similar to the one I had yesterday, and that is something I have learned to live with for now. The city has remained beautiful. The hawks have soared across the scenic view of the hills. The rains have come and gone, wiping the town clean. There, I see it: the strokes and lines of the hills are clear even in the dark, starry cover of the night. I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air. It is beautiful, isn’t it? There really is not much to it. I forgot about this for a while. Ha! For all the reminders I casually forget between the lines, I ought to read my words more.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here