mandarine

I relish these peaceful moments when my mind and body are at rest, just enjoying the eternity of an instant. The following list is an attempt at conveying the look-and-feel of these bubbles of perfect tranquility, when time seems to slow down and hold on.

• Listening to Norah Jones in the shade, on a white hot July afternoon, my hand holding a glass of icy water dripping with condensation.
• Sitting on a boulder in a cove on a quiet damp morning, watching the ebb and feeling the drizzle wet my forehead, brows and eyelashes, while a busy tern tirelessly fights off intruding seagulls with loud shrills.
• Lying at night on the roof-terrace of my grandparents’ house, waiting for shooting stars, while the land-breeze sweeps the scent of rosemary, wild thyme and pinewood my way.
• Sitting by a camp fire at night in the woods (though a chimney fire in a dark room would probably do), with people not singing nor playing the guitar, their friendly faces glowing, their twinkling eyes blankly staring at the hypnotizing flames.
• Holding my breath at the bottom of the pool (but not too long), observing how swimmers seem to be stuck on the surface.
• Watching a storm from under my porch, with my son in my arms shivering each time we hear thunder a’rolling in the distance.
• Waiting on a hilltop by the tripod, trying to ambush the sunrise, my feet wet and cold with dew.
• Lulling my child to sleep by the candlelight.
• Watching automobiles race to and fro on the freeway from my office windows, wondering why they need to rush so.
• Sitting motionless in the snow, watching snowflakes clinging to tiny twigs, and harking to the muffled silence.
• Watching colorful sunbeams falling through the stained glass patterns and splashing on the bare rock in a deserted chapel, while choir music plays softly through the small loudspeakers hidden behind the vault carvings.
• Cycling to work under the tall plane trees, on a rainy day when the the canal cycle-lane is completely deserted, listening to an audio-book I already know by heart.
• Watching the clouds from above through an aircraft window, realising how lucky I am to actually be flying.
• Remembering or making up any of the above moments.

Maybe these are cheap romantic fossil remnants of my adolescent years; yet it seems the feeling is getting stronger instead of weaker. So either romanticism is not something one has to grow out of after all, or I still have some growing up to do.

If you have similar moments you feel like sharing, do not hesitate to extend the list with your comments.

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