Misconceptions about Spring

The Echo in The Glass

" Spring is the time for plans and projects. "

The quote of Leo Tolstoy had lost its fair share of spotlight since in the lines of his romantic gestures and nonchalantly thought provoking philosophy of questioning the ways of our lives, were been uttered and celebrated by lovers of his literature.

I was one of those admirer of his work as the dresser of my compact home was rented by almost all of his works. But in the sea of his famed saying, I felt the obligation and the purest of attraction to that certain forgotten paraphrase. As it was, fortunately the first day of spring.

And unfortunately, my glorious and eccentric youth had made an unforeseen escape through my days of work, endless visits and brainless foray after the preset social values and morals. Thus, in the pursuit of earning money and building a life which was more than a lie and based on someone else's vision of living, I had turned into an old hag of 63.

It must had been 63. Or could easily be 71. I was not sure and weren't exclusively inflamed by the digits of my birth since it did not matter in the short list of activities of my exhausted slum.

I knew myself to be blind as one morning after a week spent in bed and the sudden calls of mother nature to dump my biological body garbage to the bathroom, I grasped a tight reflection of myself in the mirror. It must had been quite a shocking discovery since the hard spine of Ernest Hemingway's novel kissed the wooden floor board with a loud thump, a book I had clutched onto the forming of the last week.

And in the ugliest observation of my present image, I knew my youth was been gone for more than a few decades since this current body was nothing more than a pathetic rumination of my old self.

I held the illusion of considering myself to stay young as my eye sight hadn't lost its keen touch. But through the same looking glasses, I dreadfully spotted the poignant automatous feature of mine. The man's petty was persistent seeing his slumped cheeks were dull, the eyes were deprived of any signs of happiness and the mouth was already nonexistent with the embarrassing parts of his flaring and disembarked tone of white hair.

I have never been young even when my age was in the luscious and energetic digits of 20's.

It was the memory of a sarcastic yesterday when seeing the present version of myself, I wasted the rest of the sunlight under the unwashed duvet of my bed, also to enforce my unconsciousness, took a handful of sleeping pills as a good measure.

It was the next day, which I might add with a brave and exciting tone, was the first day of spring. And truth be told, as a fling of my dull and heavily literate mind, to taste the sharp and salient jolt of hoping to be young, I found myself in the stone covered pathway of the park before the sun could hover around over everyone's head.

It must had been the unpracticed eye of a hermit like me which exploded seeing the bursting effects of mother nature in bloom. The showcase of such fantastic bouts of beauty didn't wither to destruct my colorless mind as with slow and wandering steps, I encouraged myself to explore a place. A scenery, displaying such characteristics that I was questioning the authenticity of my vision. To ensure the fact that I was not still buried under my duvet and this was just a cruel offering of life to remind myself about what was lost.

It definitely could not have been a dream since the presented atmosphere was too complicated in artistry, flourished by a painter's mind. I had emitted a relieved sigh. I was a lot of things and had become somethings I didn't plan to, but the assurance was in place since I could not, even in my most narcissistic period, consider myself an artist, let alone a vivid imaginer.

It was all, no doubt, real.

The scenery was sweetening as the pleasing sight of groups of youth came running down near me. The happiness fired a simple simper in my lips as I decided on the fact that, in the midst of all distractions of modern technology, the candor of enjoying nature's finest offerings were still celebrated by the springtide of the tenders and the teens.

Lovers of each others, dearest of dazzling landscapes and men in running shoes who were trotting routinely to keep their stout posture, were out and about, happy and in awe as the alluring megacosm were having the finest moments.

I had more to diagnose of the seeping delicacy of the symmetry of flowers, the shiniest glaze of the grass of the park and the mixed scent of all the features of men, women, animal and trees. But it was the unannounced abandon of my cranky old knee that forced me to a retreat.

I grunted heavily, excited and exhausted, but no saddened and reached the edge of the park. It was after a few minutes of gulping breaths and hidden volcano of laughter when I noticed that I was seeking refugee near the house of the Lord.

The church door was halfway open and a small group of nuns in gloomy disposition stood there, whispering among themselves.

I cared less to bat a concerned eye since I was in a happy state, aware to keep my mood high and the distressed faces of the three men who appeared from inside the church were not in better shape than the women.

The thought of someone's trouble even on the first sun shinned day of the most beautiful of all seasons, stroke a taste of grief. The certain and doubtless truth, that the world was unforgiving, unexpected and cruelest of all entity was brushing against my conscious as I forced my head to turn around.

The whispering words and worrying phrases that flew across the small distance from my weak wooden bench to the mouth of the Father, were easily conquered even though the troubling aspects of their chat intrigued me to eavesdrop. My inborn curiosity were itching on the walls of my near deaf hearing to poke my nose into their business.

I anchored my frail and restless body on the bench, still battling to prevent my aesthetic from further investigation of the events. And whilst searching hopelessly for a distinctive distraction, my mind procured around the park which had landed my old but anxious gaze on the forming of a trio of teen who were performing a scattered walk as they approached the end of the stone walk and onto the mouth of the church.