The letters of our thoughts are the ideas present in our mind before they come to realization . . . Thoughts that are, yet not felt . . . The words of the subconscious . . . of the soul . . .


Sunday, April 29, 2007

It's always nice

Today is a beautiful Spring day . . .

The air is warm and the sun is out, but a cool breeze rustles through the leaves.

Birds chirp and dance in the branches.

It is truly a wonderful day to be alive.

I would assume that most people consider Spring to be their favorite season.

After three winters of bitter cold -two in Montreal and one in Eastern Europe (Our trip to Ukraine was scheduled during the coldest winter in years)- I can easily see why . . . Spring literally breaths new life into the world. The endless white and gray of winter give way to the fresh green of growth; for the first time months people actually want to step outside.

But after some thought, I have decided that in truth every season is my favorite . . . or rather every season in its purity.

Of spring I have already spoken . . .

But think to the warm lazy days of summer, when it's so hot one doesn't even want to think. Think of what happens when one jumps into a cold lake . . .

Or the cold of winter . . . When it first snows and everything is white. The air is clean, the world is enveloped in the light pitter of snow, every other sound besides the crunch of one's boots in the snow muffled.

Or the crisp air of Fall, the swirl of leaves as they fall from trees . . . The sky a bright blue, free of clouds.

The wind blows by sharply, kicking up the reds, yellows, and oranges found only in nature.

Every day is a nice day.

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ash said...

i really like the rythm of paragraph, words, paragraph, words. very classic.

Mottel said...

Glad you enjoyed.