It was warm today, blessedly warm after days and days of gloomy chilliness, and we stretched our faces towards the sun. Ah, and the birds sung too, we haven’t heard from them for a while, their ringing tones weaved into the background of murmured conversations.
We sat at the terrace of Cafe Pablo sipping tea and the world was perfect, and life was too.
“We deserved this” Chris said.
“Oh? And what have we done to deserve it?” I asked.
“Well, we endured the cold, the chilly gloom. This is our reward”.
“Ah, here, see how this happens” I said, raising my finger to spin a web in the air: “it is warm and we say: this is why, this is its purpose, this is it’s meaning. It is warm and we say: this is why, this is for me, this is my right.”
It is warm, and we spin a story about it and around it.
It is warm, and we say it’s our right and our reward given us, granted us.
Yet all that there is, is … warmth and us in it, with it.
There is warmth – and we are.