Yesterday autumn stepped through the door, unexpected and anticipated.
The lake covered itself in choppy waves, blurring the horizon into an illusion of infinity.
Seagulls are flying, the wind is coming from far, bringing with him long forgotten stories and desires of the past.
The red of these walls matches the color of the chestnut trees marking my view from this balcony. Since, what feels like a lifetime ago, that I am here, since the end of May. The palm trees are still green, will they ever change their color or loose their leaves?
I found a pomegranate the other day, as big as my fist, growing on the tree in the park. Who’s voice is it I hear whispering through the branches?
Earlier this year, torn between “should I stay” or “should I go” as I have been so many times in my life. “Where should I go next?” because something in me always needs to go “somewhere next”. A thought came to my mind, one that I thought would liberate me from the scary decision to actually, for once, stay.
Vague and poetic, and because we share a long romantic history, I told myself: “I’ll spend winter somewhere where the pomegranates grow.”
I think it was life whispering through the branches of the pomegranate bushes. Gently letting me know, that it is okay to stay. That maybe I can trust that feeling of love and expansion, the excitement to be here I feel everyday. That it won’t just leave. And that even if it does, I’ll still be whole, still be me. Whispering that it is not only safe to commit, but even the building of new grounds for love and inspiration.
The fountain.
Since May I walk there at least once a day to fill up my bottles with mountain water. A whole love story in itself.
I have seen the flowers bloom and caught their scent in my bottle. The pigeon that looked at me and reminded me, that love lays in the spaces between. The bottom covered in glitter, telling me I’ll manage this one too, just as I caught a hint of dread. The full moons I have admired on my way there and back. The mountain in the distance. That one time you carried all the bottles because you said I need my hands free to smell all the flowers. The warm evening air embracing my body.
Yesterday, the first yellow leaves were swimming in the water and I am still here. Meeting the moment I was most terrified of, only two months earlier. To still be here and see this place changing through another season.
I stop for an instant. Trying to grasp this whole moment, breathe it in. Like a wild animal waiting for an ambush sure to come from somewhere in the dark around. I hold my breath, my muscles tighten and I wait. But nothing happens. The night keeps rustling around me with quiet movements. Those leaves are actually beautiful. And a wave of gratitude floods me, way too intense for a few little leaves in an ordinary city fountain, my rational brain would say. But the poet in me had taken control of this moment and in deep admiration, held herself close to tears.
PS: As usual all words and photos are mine.