The simple things in life are often the most beautiful.
Like the Fur Elise piano version playing in the background as my keys move in rhythym to the melody. Like waking up sans alarm to chirping birds and mist gently kissing the tree-tops. Like the song in my heart which never ceases to play, which fills me with unending sensitivity. Like Enya’s Fairytale. Like reading The Name of the Rose over honey and baguette.
The Nutcraker. Mad laughter and a skip in my step- how much pure pleasure a job well done can bring! My evening was bashful, like the young bride who discovers the new entrant in her life has eyes only for her. Satisfaction in the pursuit of perfection comes when I realize that perfection is not a goal, but a lifestyle.
Waltz of the Flowers. I love you like the windswept cuckoo which sways with the storm yet dances with the boughs. My soul waltzes in my dreams with you and I know not how else I can describe incomparable bliss. You’re the dewdrop on the most exquisite petal I hold, one I never knew existed.
And amid this lush richness of music, I want to write..write, speak, paint, write of love and the sublime power of dreams, of damsels in villages, waiting for their long-gone love. Let me take you to her so that you can look into her eyes and find a dark room with a single ray of distant light showing the way into her soul. Look past her rosy cheeks, feel her eyelashes, feel beneath her chin. Talk of her beloved and watch her dimples bloom and eyes sparkle amid the gentle clinking of her bangles as she hides her blush in her veil. She is the embodiment of the shadows of hope, which grow shorter with the day, longer by evening and disappear by night. A night with him, one night to explain what really happened..
You, me, and he- three is indeed company, for neither of us know the secrets she wants to confide in us. The wind, he seems to know. Can you feel him whisper a word and scream another? But why trust the wind, that dispenser of rumors and pollen, when there she stands, behind a delicate mulsin curtain- the one in our minds. The light shines on the stray strands of hair on her face as she waits with words on her lips the pink of a new-born babe.
Words unsaid, but felt. Stories untold, as yet. Would you like to know what happens next?
And then.. I discover this collage of beautiful music and my day is made before it has begun. And then.. beyond the rivers braiding the hills, I hear the moors of England call out to me..