Diamonds and Pearls, a stroll by the river


No writing on interpreting others’ words today, but the inspiration they bring me – you know to whom I am referring – will undoubtedly pop-up as my fingers are typing without a second thought. The other day I went on a long stroll around the river again, it’s one of my favorite places to be when it is gorgeous weather like that. It was a bit chilly on the one side due to a fairly cold wind, but the sun was shining and the music lifted up my steps. At some point, I reached the picnic space where I used to stay and take in all scents and impressions that mother earth was sending my way; there, I went by a couple of geese lying in the grass, actually, one lied down (it looked like it was hatching eggs) and the other stood watch. The latter did not blink while I pass them by and followed my every move. I teased and stopped just to watch them, I was stared at. It was funny.

View of the river, another season
View of the river, during another season: Fall

As I continued with my walk, I ended up on the other side of the river before I could say “Quidditch” and I was hit by beauty – I know, right! I’m leading a very dangerous life, what with being hit, stricken and all that nonsense, but it’s so well worth it in the end. Fortunately for me, I had my smartphone with me and I took a picture of the words responsible for that particular attack.

Diamonds and pearls floating on the river like shattered mirrors shimmering under the sun.
© 2016, Claire Perez Ekman

Now, you may wonder why I persist in saying that I am not good at writing descriptions, my husband did, so you might as well get in line too and throw that in my face. I’ll try to explain it to you, though. As I was listening to Poets of the Fall, albeit not recalling which song it was, in good spirit I felt a smile on my face and in my eyes. Anyway, the words I was listening to were filling me with a sort of contentment, joy even, and somehow my body exuded these emotions. I was about to cross a small bridge when I saw the same words but different everywhere; I saw them without constantly seeing them. They popped up here and there on the river and in the sky, before I knew it I’d written a sentence or a verse, you call it what you like. Maybe you don’t care much for poetry so you think that there’s nothing special in these words I’ve written above, but that’s alright. I like them. They are better than a photograph of what I saw and that is what makes them so special.

Under such circumstances of obvious bliss, my thoughts usually roam freely in my mind without bugging me; they become some of my closest friends whom I listen to very carefully from a distance not to disturb or break their focus. I process them afterwards and now is afterwards. Of course, because my walk (or rather walks) happened a few days ago and I slept on them quite a lot since then, the lingering thoughts are not necessarily the most important ones. Those are, I believe, already assimilated within me and have become a part of my centre. The thoughts that remain and need proper “processing” get my attention through my writing, although, these I won’t write down after all…

Strange how the mind works, isn’t it.

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