Indescribable

Just for a moment, I felt tremendous hope, and I saw all the beauty in the world that surrounded me.
 I saw it, how wonderful it all was, as the setting sun stretched across the landscape, the trees shining in the light. The leaves as they trembled in the quiet breeze, the grass with all it's beautiful shades of green, growing long against the shackles of humanity. I see the spring as it splashes with such vigorous yet gentle dexterity, carving it's way through the landscape, searching for something that perhaps it will contentedly never find. The end of the day throws fantastic fiery colours
across the vast sky, the edges tainted by the coming of dusk, but yet everything is bathed in this beautiful light still, and there is an indescribable glory in it, a joy that can't be put into words. Yet I try- because that is what we do with our words.We try to express what was truly felt, and I felt calm and peaceful, yet ignited and excited by the serenity and perfection yet diversity of the nature that I was breathing and living in. I ran like a madman down the lane, my feet pounding the dirt, the cold
air stinging my cheeks. I smiled and I smiled at the landscape, and the sunset smiled back at me. Someone, something, gave us this world. And its at moments like this that it has to be appreciated. There may be hate, death, scandal, sadness, grief. But there is love and there is beauty and sometimes we just need to take a moment to take it all in, to feel it, to know it, to appreciate it. I saw the trees
and I thought how misunderstood they are; they may be silent as lambs but they've seen way past our years, and they grow towards the clouds for what to us seems like eternity, seeing it all, adding layers to their soft brown skins, tough to our human imperfections, watchful of our failures and our cute
successes. They give us their fruit, like gifts dropping from above, and we take it. And we live. But here I stood, in this field, feeling the world, loving things, just loving things, not expecting anyone to understand me. And I write this knowing that to read it will pronounce me crazy, but
I know, and so do the birds as they sing, and the sheep as they float in the fields made by man, what it is to be here and to be alive and to want to be alive. Nature overflows here, it's not controlled, but loops over its boundaries, ready to be discovered. I waited and waited, breathing and watching, until
the sun finally set, and the landscape was coloured with grey. But this was okay, because I knew that the colours would come again, it was okay that they were not there. I ran and ran and ran back to the house for safety, high on my adventure and the weirdness of my brain, happy with my mad moment with nature. I'm mad enough to be a writer, I thought. I'm crazy enough for this. I need to write this down, because that is what I do: so here I give this snippet through my telescope to you.

Stupid Things

Stupid things that don't matter twist emotions...twist them like steel hands around a candle, moulding it into waxy mush, with concaving finger indents. Strange things pull your heart down, 'til there's that slight lump in your throat and your limbs are heavy and your head is tired. Weird occurrences you should not care about but they throw your thoughts into turmoil, leaving you grieving what-could-have-been moments, crying over unreal ideals, smiling over forgotten loves.

The most bizarre of all is that when the real things go wrong, you notice. The world falls in, like a castle of cards, tumbling down to the table top, leaving you crushed by their papery bodies. There's a longing and a sense of guilt for ever feeling so bad when things were right, because now things are really wrong: properly wrong. You beg to return to a time when the strange things pulled your heart down, so you can be free to pull it back up, without cards catapulting through the air, and tears flying like daggers from your face.

But, its no use. The stupid things make up my mind and make me tick over, like an impatient clock. And waiting for things to fix themselves while I stand perfectly intact with muscles bulging and breath clear as daylight, is ludicrous. Emotions may be superficial, but the world itself is superficial. The stupid things will break us, like the trojan horse, or Achilles heel. Emotions take our immortality; they are our vulnerability. But this is what makes us human; this is what makes us alive. Without these strange things, to make us happy as if we're birds in flight, and sad like stones in the ocean, what would life be?