Sunday at the Secret Lake ----------------------------------------- They call it The secret Lake in the community. Perhaps is not so secret but certainly special. There was a big storm this early morning, a lightning struck close to the camp site. I missed an exuberant grand finale in a sudden blast of light! At the lake ... only ducks, water and wind. They acknowledged me as I arrived in. Framed by thick forests the lake was shining in the summer sun. Stroked by the wind, ... rippled of joy like a purring cat. Great musician the wind, playing with the canopies in a sublime ensemble. My weary head finally surrendered. Lost in that music I crossed the lake, walking my bike on the narrow isthmus... What if I fall? If my bike sinks down? . Only beauty around, ... ducks chatting in their local language. It could have been 10 am or 100 BC. Time was hard to remember. How can all of this be a simulation? You should talk to the stones said a birch who spoke my language. They have been here from the beginning Stones are solid beings, mentally stable, discrete and perfectly still. My busy mind did not even notice them in the landscape.. And yet there they were, dotting the woods and poking the waters. Ancient creatures, mysteriously landed. Will I be heard? It took a while to find her, on the lakes shore she called me closer. Stones like to sit a lot and she was not different. How can all of this be a simulation? She did not say anything, but her face changed... the beginning of a smile preceding an answer. The ducks scared away by my presence, came back to listen. A red house became visible in the distance. The wind stopped, the sun hit stronger. A simulation of what? The noise of a car broke in, a faint echo of humans appeared in the wind. It must have all started before the stones. Thats why nobody remembers. The bike was waiting, overwhelming the lush, the hunger distracting Next time I will ask the lightning. Massimo
Posted on: Sun, 03 Aug 2014 19:37:45 +0000
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