i love irony and the things that weren’t meant to be, but just fit.
for example my last post, i had shared something, which wordpress again decided to discard and keep only the title. but how fitting was it for the title.. very!
i had originally decided i was going to go scouting the Normandy area while i was here. but decided i don’t have time to be a tourist. haha! instead i will be only a writer. walking down the streets, exploring the brick stone houses, the little gardens, pathways leading upwards and downwards, i am going nowhere except to the moment of ‘now’. yesterday i stumbled upon a writer’s house- the mansion of Maurice Leblanc, and took in a tour, the beauty is that i was also the only one taking a tour at this hour, and truly got to enjoy the details of the place, his papers, his books and belongings. i even dared grab a book from a shelf and breathed in the scent of the pages (quickly before anyone would come in and tell me i’m not allowed to touch anything- haha)
I imagined myself, like him, like many of the writers we admire, sat at a study enchanted by the garden outside, creating imagining falling in love with my characters, discovering my metaphors, wrapped in inspiration, perhaps even desperation of a writers block.
the life of a writer is one i aspire to, and am working and leading my path to get there, eventually get to that horizon, that mountain top where i can be for the sake of the written word, for poetry and stories, for moments heartfelt, for adventures of questions finding more questions… a writer a philosopher i am and always have been, even if my life story said otherwise…
in these days spent, these moments of silence, passing by conversations i do not understand and relish in not understanding, i am not discovering myself, or taking in some drastic revelations on life. instead i am only just calm, thinking of nothing, my mind in serene quiet.
alas, my craving for silence is in the state of satisfaction…
below a couple of pictures taken of Leblanc’s garden