Paris in the Rain
It’s raining in the afternoon. I open my windows to listen with a clear mind to this familiar sound of water drops, to smell the new scents it uncovers when it reaches the ground. Chimes play a delicate syncopated melody in someone’s balcony next door from the soft breeze passing through.
Time seems to be suspended. My memories take me back through every arrondissement in Paris and nostalgia overwhelms me for a moment. Names and faces come to me relentlessly until my eyes close and I sit on the old wooden floor with my back flat against the wall. My shoulders relax and fall naturally. I breathe deeply once, then I hold it for two seconds and exhale.
So lovely is the scent of wet earth from my small window garden, I experience bliss. The sound of cars and people below becomes a subdued rhythm, a euphonious caress. I count to three and fall into a trance: One, two, three.
Now, a dark and narrow corridor appears in my mind and I walk into it. Clear skies slowly become visible above and at the end, there is a white room with a pale blue chaise longue next to a polished steel and glass side table. On the table is a small globular rock crystal vase with a stunning arrangement of violets. I will return to this place whenever I can.
As I turn around to walk back, I feel neither anxiety nor longing. When I count to three again, my past will have its proper perspective. I am ready.
One, two, three.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Milena Mihaylova/Flickr
This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Time seems to be suspended. My memories take me back through every arrondissement in Paris and nostalgia overwhelms me for a moment. Names and faces come to me relentlessly until my eyes close and I sit on the old wooden floor with my back flat against the wall. My shoulders relax and fall naturally. I breathe deeply once, then I hold it for two seconds and exhale.
So lovely is the scent of wet earth from my small window garden, I experience bliss. The sound of cars and people below becomes a subdued rhythm, a euphonious caress. I count to three and fall into a trance: One, two, three.
Now, a dark and narrow corridor appears in my mind and I walk into it. Clear skies slowly become visible above and at the end, there is a white room with a pale blue chaise longue next to a polished steel and glass side table. On the table is a small globular rock crystal vase with a stunning arrangement of violets. I will return to this place whenever I can.
As I turn around to walk back, I feel neither anxiety nor longing. When I count to three again, my past will have its proper perspective. I am ready.
One, two, three.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Milena Mihaylova/Flickr
This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 