A CLOUD OF sadness engulfs her spirit. It descends slowly, like a silver raindrop, drenching her in its water. It is a subtle and soft as mist, a web woven of minute, damp fibers that cling to her feelings, so that she cannot shake them off.

How to learn to live? That seems to be greatest question – to learn how to survive and exist within the world. Sometimes it feels as if it is the easiest thing in the world; or at least, it feels that it should be. A courageous spirit survives anything, for it will not be backed down.

But the mundane gnaws away at the spirit of adventure and courage, until there is nothing but a haze of brilliance. Like a smear leftover from the sunlight, it gleams out of the corner of the eye, noticed but forever elusive – the brightness of being remains out of sight.

A faint memory of golden fires beneath full moons, silvery bows shooting arrows of moonlight across the vast desert stirs. Fire and moonlight, enchanted and tangled together; a magical moment, a breathless instant, hung beyond time that has never bloomed. Perhaps its petals are frozen; perhaps…

No answer comes, but the memory is small. It gently wafts away, a fragrance of lunar flowers lost in the desert. In its place, is a burst of sunshine, dazzling white treasure dancing over the waves.

Cerulean silk swirls with flecks of jade; milky foam kisses the warm wind, which blows forward, seeking adventure and newness. Sizzling and spicy scents, foreign ports, lush heavy blossoms. They perfume the air, tantalizing ears with their quiet stories.

Everything hums with distant golden dreams, tales of long voyages and priceless treasures and a shining spirit of familial devotion. It drives itself against the waves, stronger than time; it is as sweet as sunshine and it glows because it is only a fleeting moment. And so it seems, it must be the more precious.

But what is precious? Is it that which teaches one to live? Or is it something more sentimental? Are the moments, passing every day and never to be reclaimed, the precious ones? Or is it the people –the other living ones – who populate one’s story whom are precious? And do these precious ones – moments or others – serve any purpose in teaching one how to learn to live?

If yes, than what could they teach, or perhaps that is a story everyone is living. But maybe, learning to live is about finding the courage to exist, to know that however elusive and sad, there is still…

The moment fades; the thought falters. Sunlight is slipping over the clouds, a waterfall of light. Why did those elusive feelings and memories stir? How does the courage of living give rise to blooming lunar flowers in a desert beyond time?

Word Count: 472

Written: 16 Jan 2012

Inspired: personal reflections and imagination


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