As the weather gets warmer, the air gets magically filled with what look like tiny, floating white clouds. When I asked what they were, I was told, Princesses. I've since then learned that these are actually the characteristic seeds flying off the cottonwood trees.
Precisely the least, the softest, lightest, a lizard's rustling, a breath,
a flash, a moment: a little makes the way of the best happiness. - Nietzsche
My eyes open to the warmth of the morning sun. I watch the radiance push through the window, and I wonder about how the night had enveloped the day in its womb of darkness.
Now, day is here - illuminated by faintly sparkling layers of air with white light.
Then, as if what is happening is not real at all, but a lucid dream, woven bits of impressive, fragile fluffs parachute down and across the tranquility of the blue sky. Like God's fingerprints, tiny balls of cottony wisps gently claim their mark all around.
I allow my eyes to take in every inch of them bathing in the morning luster - a pointless exercise, I realize, but I'm loving it. Carried away by their impatient and perpetual buoyant urge to go on and on, they seem like they're following the enticing summons of the likes of the hunchbacked flute player Kokopelli, the universal Pan, Spirit of Music.
And so they float - merging into a point of nothingness which is untouched by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point of divine spark.
The sweet, invigorating smell of the peony and rhododendron embraces me, surrounding me with a deep sense of comfort. I pause, stranded in an ocean of intoxication, a moment of mutual glory, for I know intuitively that everything hinges on this time when the eye notices the small things, and nothing will be the same again.
I ponder freedom and paradise as I walk away with the intention of talking myself into a less excitable frame of mind.
Today I feel light.
I can move.
Like a Princess, I will float.
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