As he sat on the river shore, not far from a small waterfall, he took a moment away from his day and decided to fill it with that place.
First he reached out with his eyes and scooped up the bright and crystal clear water, the way that it leapt up into the air without fear. He grabbed the small fish that sat, swimming in place in the sunny shallows. Then he gathered up the creeping carpet of moss and its tall tree-like fern companions, and swept his eyes up through the air and caught a gracefully flying dragonfly with their net.
Then he closed his eyes and recorded every sound that every drop of water made as it rejoined its friends or was lost, even if only for a moment, on a rock or leaf. He collected the sound of every quivering leaf that surrounded him like they were the small shining stones that he had, in another time, filled his small pockets with.
He took a deep breath, and captured the musty, moist smell of the air and caught along with it a bit of the scent of blooming wild roses and even his own warm and sweaty body.
Then he reached for and caught the sensation of sitting cross-legged on worn river stones that had been warmed by the days sun. The blades of grass that tickled his ankle, and the breeze that dried his face and blew through his hair.
Then he opened his eyes, emptied his mind, and made that moment his.
No comments:
Post a Comment