I live in a pomegranate-colored house on the top of a mountain.
Lately, I wake up very early, because the beauty around me is almost impossible to breathe in.
Opening the doors and windows, I run outside to greet the forest, the mountains, and the sea.
The space is filled with the sounds of owls, waking cicadas, and early birds. A Simi cat, who has settled near the house, waits for his morning portion of affection and a piece of sausage. After eating, he begins to sharpen his claws, occasionally glancing in my direction.
Roosters call out to each other, announcing the beginning of a new day.
I return inside, stepping on tiptoe across the creaking wooden floor. My little miracle is still sleeping peacefully. I cross him gently and slip back beside him, accidentally waking him.
— Good morning, mom, — he whispers.
— Good morning. Sleep… everything is fine. I love you.
Overwhelmed by happiness, I cannot fall asleep, and at the same time feel a quiet, aching tightness in my chest.
My whole being resists leaving.
This is a place of belonging, where I live and come alive, even if only for a short moment. A place of power I do not want to leave.
I have lived here, I live here, and I will live here.
Otherwise, there is no meaning in this life.
Observations
