What is there to compare with waking up to the sweet cansiones of multi-coloured pajares, and sunlight streaming through the window at the rising of Mr. Sol. And then settling back on the pillows, thoughts just drifting on by. Broken only by prayers for the unborn, so wonderfully crafted by our Heavenly Creator. Breakfast in a sunstreamed kitchen. A spot of tea with cinnamon and the sweetness of raspberry jam on toast. Tidy up. Getting dressed. Even made the bed. A very nice blue shirt. Cotton. But ironed into silk. Matching shoes, pants, jacket. The nice leather one that fits almost perfect. Fuss with my hair, which hasn't seen a comb in 10 years. Ahh, presentable, one last glance in the sitting room mirror. Bible.... check. And I turn the handle on a soft green door, and walk into a beautiful day. So how do I describe it; as I walked out the front door. A breath of fresh air, and I am on the street. A few steps, the wind is blowing. And I am hit, almost knocked down, but I manage to stagger along. Why does it hit me so hard? This wind that ever so gently speaks of spring and fall. My emotions are whipped around, and I am no longer on the street. I'm walking up the path to the big log house. Spring is here and I cannot express the feelings that come from the sights, sounds, and smells of it all. I am intoxicated like no other man. And as I struggle to regain my breath thats been taken away, I return to the street, with the senses moving whistfully on. I don't know why I am affected so much by a simple wind carrying along a spring breeze. But I am. Maybe it is good memories of times gone past. Maybe the distance brings out the nostalgia that brings tears to my eyes. But whatever it is, I wouldn't miss it for the world. I don't dwell in the past, but the memories are so warm and real. And all I can do is give thanks to the one from whom all blessings flow.
(post originally comes from journal entry: Feb 26, 2007 10:40 p.m. Cochabamba, Bolivia)
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