From a distance, it’s hard to see, but the waves carry it in the air…from that huge bowl of a valley…the pastures.
Closer, pastures rolling up and rolling across the slopes, the fields. My eyes and nose battle to receive their outpouring.
Invisible micro-whisps rising, swirling…they enter my nose, uninvited, confusing my sense of beauty with olfactory complexities; but then my receptors are overtaxed and I can receive no more—so I look and my eyes gradually suffer the same fate.
Why are these pleasures time-stamped? Am I being protected from following some forbidden sensual path into the home of these glorious plants?
Just a question. Because I will visit these pastures again tomorrow and for a brief moment share their waves of ecstasies.
Time stamped? An interesting idea — perhaps, if we were surrounded by them all the time they would lose their ability to inspire, to awe, to fill us with possibility.
Aspirations, at best. Thank you.
that’s wonderful how you expressed your feelings being in nature. Reminds me of some great Russian authors. Regards Mitza