When I return home, time dilates. I stop on the wobbly wooden bench in the middle of the yard and gaze at the sky, caressed by the sun's touch, those rays that, before reaching my face, pierce the clouds, hide among the leaves at the top of the trees, among the insects swarming in the air.
It's warm: the touch of light. My blonde hair is like electric conductors that absorb energy and charge me without asking for anything in return. In fact, there are many beautiful things in this world that ask nothing of us but a little time. In haste, we will miss every beautiful surprise God has prepared for us along the way.
Patience, my dear, patience. Only pain presses repeatedly, until you stop and close your eyes, and breathe as if it were the first time. That's how I see it, with different eyes, it seems, when I lie on the grass surrounded by sheep and dogs. I breathe as if new lungs are being rebuilt inside me, lungs that haven't given in to the pressure of this century's race.
A moment that asks nothing of me but to accept the invitation to peace ‒ to listen to the silence and watch the branches dance in the strong wind. I have nowhere to run, no reason to run. For this moment, I allow myself to live.
In the morning, I step barefoot on the former green carpet, now yellowish-dry from the drought that hardened the earth, but warmed by the light of the Star of flames. As the sun rises, so do I raise my prayer – a bit late, but earlier than never – with which I want to crown this gift called today.
My bare, cold soles receive the warmth pouring from the earth, and from above comes the light that greets my skin good morning ‒ and the Light, yes, Life, awakens both my mind and my heart.
The remarkable thing is that I walk on grass, on earth densely populated by a multitude of creatures that go about their daily lives beyond our hustle and bustle, I perch atop the logs that my dad and brother will soon split and, to my surprise!, I feel my feet cleaner than ever. Perhaps because I left behind some of the burdens that chained them and took off so many worries.
I feel free. Barefoot, with wild, golden hair that holds the memory of the water from the yellow lake, in a somewhat wrinkled dress, sprinkled with cat hair left after tight hugs, tired and sometimes nostalgic, other times melancholic, but so alive and still home.
Home, where all of nature, His creation, seems to embrace me.
Gala Jura
Photography by cottonbro studio / pexels.com