Dawn

I remember you. You were a translucent jellyfish, shimmering with air bubbles within your watery body. You soared as the black silhouette of a pelican over the waves of the Atlantic… you fluttered as an iridescent butterfly above my head. And it was you and yet not quite. And I yearned to kiss you. Embrace you. Hold you close, again and again. Endlessly. To give away the tenderness that had accumulated. To surrender to the infinite beauty of the moment. To fly together with you above the branches where those paradise birds shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow…

And I kissed you. And you unexpectedly said, “thank you!” And suddenly it became clear to me that you were eager to fall in love for an infinite moment, perhaps even more than I.

But first, there was the sunset.

Upon our arrival, the ocean had arranged intricate seashells on the shore. They begged to be collected. And wished to remain as they were. Yearned to be discovered amidst them, a nugget of gold or a massive pearl. And desired to wander barefoot in the water. So we walked along the shore, allowing the playful waves to embrace our feet, kiss our calves, caress the tips of our fingers with splashes, playfully attacking and foamily hiding in the depths of the water… We played tricks, sending a guerrilla who, for the sake of an impression, would be soaked by a wave, eliciting laughter from us at the sight of a pitifully fluffed bird…

And then you painted a lobster in the sky. And transformed it into a dolphin. But that was after you lit a bonfire in the sky. It burned out and faded. You promised to return to it in the morning.

And we did return.

Morning came. And morning was tender. Mornings are usually gentler than evenings. Evenings are hot, sultry. Evenings are dense with the tension of muscles. Evenings are full of the saturation of scents. Evenings draw close to night. In the evenings, you want to merge. In the mornings, you want to be yourself. In the mornings, you want to awaken. In the mornings, you want to merge with nature. Mornings are gentle. Mornings are delicate. Mornings are pastel. Mornings are cool. Mornings are like little births after yesterday’s endless erotic death. We rise. We open our eyes. As if for the first time. Everything – as if for the first time.

And on the shore, we once again feel like children of the ocean, emerging from the ocean, born in the ocean – youthful, foolish, different children of nature, accidentally abandoned again in this world, to remember that just a few billion years ago we were transparent, like these jellyfish lids, tossed ashore by the wave overnight…

And we sit on the cool sand. Without words. As if the centrifugal force of the whirlpool draws you and meto this distant point on the horizon. What do you think, what island lies beyond this edge?

A piece of sky blue, like an umbrella,
Where dreams are born, and hopes alight.
The wind, a gentle hand, brushes clouds away,
As I walk, step by step, toward the horizon bright.

And at this point – you don’t expect it at all – you look at it as if it’s the hope of your entire life. You look and with surprise notice that it is there that the day is born. And this miracle seems so vast that your small body disappears in the rays of the infinite sun, melting together with the night, quietly flowing into the sand with small crabs, spreading out on the shore, like jellyfish… Evaporating with droplets on the lips, turning into a memory. Where was I? Was it me? Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here? In this world, everything works without me – the day begins, the sun wakes up. Pelicans dive for prey. The wave beats against the shore, splashes fly into the sky, the dove admires you and me with the transparent morning of pure water and the fragrant air of a new day…

I know – you stand at the horizon,
Patiently waiting, as time unwinds its thread.
You hold the sun in your palm, a radiant crown,
Where earth and sky embrace, in hues of red.

And I jump like a child between you and the sun, trying to capture the sun so that you can capture my silhouette in its rays – I hope it lasts longer than a cardboard postcard…

Early day. Hello, new one. Happy Birthday, Sun. With a new day, wave! Happy Birthday to you, the ocean. It waves with foam at the water’s edge. It rejoices with splashes of salty moisture. And I celebrate its triumph – life, joy, existence, the dense reality in our fragile world of disembodied human beings, who only think they exist.

They just haven’t seen the sunrise…