I Love This Place
“Now is this place and how ineluctably so.”
The air is crisp and clear.
I stand tall upon this landscape — one that I imagined long ago. It seems to go on forever, at least beyond that which I can perceive. I am bound by my perceptions, of that I know.
Before the city is the forest, one on which I have a bird’s eye view. And extending before me are trenches of textured greenery lacing and twirling from and into everywhere. And within the green is unimaginable infinite life! Life that we’ve been given, the one life so few have chosen to know.
I couldn’t write a treatise about freedom, but I know enough to feel it here.
Nothing about this moment is where I’ll be or where I’ve gone. Now is this place and how ineluctably so.
Silence, I haven’t become acquainted with you and I have no intention to do so. Around me are disparate notes and sounds that awaken my mind — the divine senses that make feel alive. The rustle of the wind against the trees reminds me that I’m not alone. All around is presence — I’m but one among many souls.
Odorless, too, am I compared to the fountain that infuses the soil and animates it all. The grey rocks, although they’re solid and immutable, their stubbornness persists as far as this fountain goes. The dirt upon which I walk to get to this place, I wish I could take a handful of it and crush it against my face. I feel neither pain nor pleasure, here, as I am too present to introspect.
“This is it,” I’d like to scream, “this is it!”
After a few moments, I take a seat. An empty wine glass has been resting on this patio table for some time. But every time I reach for it, I refuse to take it away. “Don’t you dare touch me,” it seems to be saying.
There are objects like that — they need not be moved. Even if dirt and wear will tear them apart, nothing but the strength of time should subject it to involuntary mobility.
The red of the wine has tainted the glass. I could place it in front of my right eye just as an experiment. Perhaps it’d dim this colorful place. I don’t know for how much time it’ll stay there. But it seems more established than me. This glass is finished. Let it be, let it rest.
I tap my breast pocket in hopes of finding something. I wore this shirt last night but I felt too lazy to change. Maybe a cigarette could purify this moment. Yet, when I reach into my pocket, the only thing I feel is old remnants of tobacco. If I had a pipe, I’d breathe it out into the air, if only for the hell of it.
I’m nameless in front of this beautiful place that I call home. I am a passerby — empty when I arrived and empty when I’ll go. This moment is one among many, but the only one I’ll ever know. Alone for this one, and rarely have I been so. I love this place — I’ll never let it go.