Being aware is inspiring.
The beach. Walking adjacent to a blue metal bar, on the other side is a water tunnel, flowing to its next destination. The breeze blows in a scent, probably of fish and moist water but reminiscent of much more. The aroma reminds me of sunsets in Orlando, walking under a spitting stitch, and the first step off of an airplane. More importantly, the scent of relaxation, excitement, and impending moments, only for more to occur.
A partial sunset in the snow. With a clouded, golden-hour light, the gold changes to a lighter blue with the weather. In each moment, more light slips away. Flakes float down, furrowing into every crevice until none are left unfilled. At times, it seems the specks fall faster, but if extracted and with an external view, they seem stuck in time, in slow motion. Lights flicker on with pre-set timers and add flickers to the flakes. Even with the occasional car flying past, or animal scuttering through the cold powder, everything seems exactly as it must be, perfect and still. Once the light is obliterated, and all that’s left is the automatic twinkles across the street, the snow is peaceful. Footsteps and tracks haunt the new snow, getting swept away by the second. If someone or something were to look straight up into the dark sky, they would see the incoming specks, in all directions, somehow lit up in the darkness, so magical they are captivating.
A rainy fall afternoon. The day was busy, life continues to be busy with the ever-moving time and papers, ideas, and plans that stack upon each other. One of the few minimal places where life seems to be put together and planned is a small coffee shop on the corner of a building, an obstructed yet obvious view of a river, trees painted colors of a changing season, streetlamps dimly lit with the darker ambiance, buildings of stone and bricks, all slightly blurred with mother nature’s tear drops as if painted with chalk. The cafe has the lingering scent of brewed coffee, hugging everything and one that enters with a sense of relaxation and comfort. The fire crackles silently in the corner, with chairs surrounding it, summoning the perfect person to be hypnotized by their view. The rain caresses the building with a gentle patter, paired with the calm, almost sad music coming from the hidden speakers. Although it may be sad music, the combination of views, scents, and sounds is comforting and mixes a shot of happiness and productivity to last through the upcoming struggle.
A walk through a streetlight-lit town. No cars can be found, only lingering footsteps from the group recently gone. The streets are dry and new, trees are full and green, bushes are blooming with flowers, and birds are quietly chirping from their birches. Movements in the distance are like ghosts in the wind, there but barely noticeable. It looks like it could be a movie backdrop, perfectly crafted to the minor details in the leaf shapes and flower locations. The shadows are so perfectly still and shaped to corner and edge. It seems too perfect to be true, but it only lasts for as long as conditions are perfect. Then the lights go out, and only the moon and starlight guide people down the roads.
The beach, again. A makeshift picnic on a striped towel with a pizza box and a fountain coke by a log. The sun is setting again, a colorful blend of oranges, blues, pinks, and indescribable colors. A family coasts along the shore on a paddle board, taking turns balancing the swaying surface. Walking adjacent to the water, the sand becomes uneven, but when focusing on it, it is much more. A disrupted part of the sand where someone along the way took the time to craft a tiny palace, with rocks and sticks and feathers decorating the surface. A large moat waiting to take the flow of waves from passing through boats surrounds the elegant mountain of rocks. The entire thing is fascinating and seems too important to be abandoned on a golden beach. The feather atop one of the towers sways in the wind. If looked at from a perfect angle, it looks life-size and glossed over with a coat of bright sunlight. The next thing is being pulled into focus, but the little artwork lingers in the corner of the viewpoint. Even times down the road, the image of the art resides in thought.
Oh, to be so aware.
