The heat is omnipresent, I let it soothingly impress my white skin. My mind urges me for nothing, boredom is veiled in the comfortable pleasure of the sun’s radiant warmth. Reading Braudel’s The Mediterranean offers a delightful introspective in my youthful memories and historic reflections, strengthened by the smell of baking sunburn lotion. But the heat is cooling my thoughts, and it’s a soothing experience after being occupied by trivial concerns of professional interest that is not related to those concerns of my soul that matter deeply.
I am still easily distracted, my mind floating in shallow waters, and the pebbles I see laying at the bottom are not discovered at great depths. My heart is at least past the steep slope of the long hours without relief, and sees down upon the open valley of new terrain in front of me again. I feel an urge to step down, not yet letting gravity set the pace eagerly, but enough to lighten my path. Oh the cool breeze is embracing my hot head like a mother her long-lost child.
How absolutely do petty concerns rule our mind easily. We let it slowly eat away from inner self, living off the shallow layer of our memories, believing it to be tangible, undeniable like a hard stone or completely like soft water, but memories are like great desires in the torching desert, they are like lovers to the heart.