Of hikes and solitaire

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"These are my confessions, and if in them I say nothing, it’s because I have nothing to say...These confessions of what I feel are my solitaire. I don’t interpret them like those who read cards to tell the future. I don’t probe them, because in solitaire the cards don’t have any special significance! " - Fernando Pessoa

Somewhere, in the woods, right now, there's a falling tree that dares to make a sound. At a distant place, somewhere further from the falling tree, there's a waterfall that makes a continuous rumbling. This place sometimes feels like the story of my life. People come and go, but while visiting, you can hear small chatters, small laughs and giggles and sometimes at night, you can still see their ghosts lingering here and there. While on the hike seated at a hilly place holding the vision of a spy drone, I see a dragonfly passing by without any real majesty. It takes my eyes here and there before fading into the background, I wonder why it is here and where it's gone but then I see it again. I try to reclaim that moment but too much time has already passed. We marvel at the glory of this waterfall but do not cherish it in any special way. We like to think that in our coming here, we are living a little, while in truth, the sweet memories of this place will be left in this lonely place, we will only carry the memory of how cold the water was, how awkward the conversations were, and how naïve it is to think that this is living!

It is remarkable how all the things that have ever happened — random or not — seem to have been building up to this moment. All the movements I made, the hurried and slowed paces, and now the different places I could sit, I just happen to sit here, in these same woods, where I can clearly glance up and witness a falling leaf; it falls so erratically, dancing to the beats of the blowing wind until it finally lands on a girl sitting at the banks of the stream tapping the waves of the flowing stream oblivious of all the magic above her. In truth, there’s nothing profound about a falling leaf, but somehow it has managed to get me hooked in its last pursuit of wonder, this probably means everything to its dead self. A final memoir of an unknown life. To have lived, to have fallen and died, and eventually to have chosen someone to fall back on for the last time.

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