A MIRACLE OR TWO

Miracles happen, constantly. The eyes are no capable of capturing a single shot, even if they are in the wide open position, as the heart is closed. One thing brings to another and, in this panorama, the work is multiplied. The curtains are seducing the view at the other side; meanwhile the defenseless recluse, ignoring the overpopulated orb, is starting to behave like an isolated creature in a golden cage with the no door would. As the concepts multiply the reason for them to exist underlies the physical world, so limited, so simple, so vane. I can’t stop marveling when I presence the miraculous materialization of the living flow, I look around, I ask myself if I they are watching as I do, but no. When I open my mouth and I state so obvious to me facts, the crowd turns them into fantasies… because, you know? I cannot talk in any other way that in the one that I am dictated. Do I ascend to reach the category of demented? Well, I must say that the wandering between idyllic backwaters replaces it all. The blue bud bunches curling around the rail bars, that promising harvest that is barely popping from the woody corps; they know I am not talking passworded unintelligible words. I consider the convulsive ramble from which I recently came out the wrapping of an exclusive present; it was beating, there in the solitary aisles where outcasts find their shelter. But wait! I see two hands, one comes from the west and the other is waving me from the south. This may not be such a solitary long voyage as I thought after all… B_Nour