Fleeting moments

Warm, spring sunlight gently caressed the field path. Flickering rays, like flames of thought, slowly moved through the veil of the flower-strewn world, as if marking it with their own drop of reverie. The breath of the wind and the sounds of the morning's turmoil accompanied all the thoughts that tried to break through the bright land. In truth, it was difficult to see anything without dreaming into the blue fields of dreams and leaves etched with many memories. Each glimpse of a veritable paradise gave the impression of being far removed from the daily gloom, from the sun, which leaves only a fiery glow in its wake in the evenings.

The delicate song of a nightingale echoed outside, drowning out the night's cry for many seconds. A young lady, with eyes like stars strewn with a thousand sparkles and hair danced with gentle rays, stood like a rose, enamoured by the measured sound of hooves. The delicate rustle of silk and hair the color of a starless night gave the impression of a second world, accompanied only by a smile. The path, etched with the imprints of many feet, was marked by her slender figure and the beauty that flowed within her. She was like a young leaf, tossed by a gentle breeze, a statue with a face both graceful and proud. Her gaze was obscured by a cloak, like thick grass shimmering at dawn. She stepped delicately, leaving behind only a memory, blurred by the song of the horizontal air movement, that only someone with a heart the color of fresh summer could awaken.

In the distance, where the morning twilight obscured every inch of childhood, a melancholic man strolled, as if lost in the southern sounds of life. His golden blond hair glowed in the gentle sun, and his amber eyes were fixed on a distant point, marked as if by the imprint of deep emotion. His steady breathing and predatory expression testified to the many mockeries of fate that had befallen him. The atmosphere, spiced by his determined gait and the sound of rising footsteps, seemed even more oppressive than it had moments before. He stopped, and the world froze in a split second, lost in the essence of time, vanishing into the realm of oblivion. The boy looked like a young king ruling a vast land, his eyes opening a long path to the strangest corners of the soul. Harsh words repeatedly pierced his lips, irreversibly wounding his pristine nature. The sun set in an instant, and only his silhouette retained a shadow of the previous atmosphere.

Strolling through the sea of ​​lush greenery and animals, he couldn't help but notice the motionless figure gazing raptly at the flat landscape. If it hadn't been quiet, full of charm, and at the same time utterly devoted to its task, he would have passed it by, catching only the dark outline of a delicate figure. However, he stopped involuntarily, and as if reading her deepest desires, he uttered two seemingly innocent words:

"What are you looking for?" and only after a moment did he realize the significance of his words. His face took on a bitter hue of scarlet, mixed with the old reflection of anger.

The girl seemed distant from the mundane questions, as if wandering the endless paths of youthful imagination and finding in them the hidden fulfillment of desires. She didn't answer immediately; something drew her more than the embarrassed individual. But what?

The boy was about to depart, to fade into oblivion, when from delicate, chamomile-scented lips, simple, resonant words were sent into the air:

"He is gazing at the moon, reflected in the surface of the lake. At this time of year, its outline seems even more distinct than in autumn."

Something like astonishment, immediately flooded by a hot wave of anger, reflected in the future man's eyes. For the next 150 kilometers, there wasn't even the smallest pond. He glanced at her fleetingly, and just as he was about to say something, she, guessing his thoughts, said as she left:

"The lake is even more beautiful than you might think. Its splendor can be seen by anyone whose eyes are not deceived by the illusions of the past," she said, leaving behind only a freshly plucked rose petal.

The teenager involuntarily gazed at the shapely woman, and without further thought, he tossed "crazy" as he left and headed toward the old, beautiful tree. Something about her intrigued him, but he couldn't yet grasp what it was.

The spring rays of sunlight seemed only a distant dream in a world filled with the autumnal riot of colors. The past moments were treated as something completely unreal, reduced to nothing by the rapid course of events. For the young man, the girl he had met was but a slight touch of the soul, a warm breath of fate that longed to sail away forever to the endless lands of his imagination. The soft rustle of her hair slowly drifted away to a land of oblivion, and his heart filled with joy for the surrounding nature. He loved autumn and all the days associated with it.

He had once strolled thoughtfully through golden meadows, found the reflection of a smile in the nerves of friends, and ran his fingers along the gentle surface of a metal plate. His keen senses warmly responded to every sign sent by Mistress Nature—and there were many, beginning with the majestic flaps of departing storks' wings. As he traversed the embodiment of dreams, an ideal land where jealousy and pride existed, he became aware of many smiles of fate he had never noticed before. He was not a lonely link in the great world; he possessed faith in others and the values ​​bestowed by truth, hope for a path spread by good intentions, and a love for life and the stars, blushing with a blue glow. As if on a rock, a gentle smile was etched on his face, a smile that would accompany him for the long hours to come.

Strolling slowly through the steppes of his own imagined imagination, he encountered a sad yet mysterious obstacle, a golden shawl woven from leaves resting on its shoulders. Like a delicate morning flower, tickled by the joyful breath of the trees, she stood alone and deaf to the calls of the wind. He gazed at her, counting the shades of gold reflected in her silhouette, and as if the nightingale's song had encouraged him to move forward, he followed his old acquaintance, whose image once again filled his being. He moved slowly, as if each step drained the life-giving courage from his stubborn heart. The creature standing in the clearing, without pausing in its own activity, with a light wave of its hand directed him to follow its own silhouette, glowing in the morning sun. They walked softly along the gentle path, as if separating their figures from the world. Nothing mattered but their souls, united in lofty ecstasies yet distant from mundane matters, like young trees. They were closer to each other than two rose petals, joined in a gentle breeze.

Every day, they watched each other's wandering eyes, following paths previously traced by someone else, and time was as meaningless to them as a pebble falling into the depths of a distant valley. Their intertwined gazes floated in a slow dance of emotions, floating in their own happiness, their own dangerous experiences. They were silent, and each passing minute of peace was more than a million fruitless words.

The man didn't know if it was love; he had never known its taste, nor smelled the sweet fragrance that wafted over the faces of the lovers. He breathed in her smile and nourished himself with the shade of her eyes. Every positive feeling connected to the tiny figure standing still in the field, perhaps watching young deer. He found himself gazing out the window every day at her gentle figure, disrupting his normal routine. He realized how many thoughts had been transformed by one quiet, dignified person, and how many rays of sadness had long since fled from his life. He wasn't afraid of the day ahead, and each moment brought to mind a dream.

It was a summer night, filled with the scent of fresh lilacs and strawberries. He walked slowly, his feet stroking the even expanses of grass. He saw her on a rise, silent and still, and the reflection of white and blue flowed through her hands. She astonished him even more than at their first meeting; the pages glowed with a gentle, peaceful handwriting. Her emerald eyes slowly filled with mist, and a hidden pain was etched on her face. He read it, and his heart finally understood her sadness:

"...And strength, granted by heaven, led with conscious gaze to the gates of the Lord..."

The breath slowly slipped from her delicate body, and her beloved figure froze in the very fabric of time. Only a gentle smile remained forever on her face, like a warm breath bringing solace. Pure tears, with a milky glow, gently lingered on her headboard. The boy felt all the images of the past moments wandering through his mind, as the young creature indelibly etched itself upon his soul. The emptiness in his heart seemed unbearable; beautiful thoughts seemed only a memory. Never again would he see that ruddy face and that gaze that robbed him of all his thoughts, never again would he perceive the delicate sparks on a beautiful, young face. The world was closing in, and he could not slow the oppressive passage of time.

No one saw anything more that night, and a crimson shadow was forever etched on the sheets of paper she held in her hand.

It was said that a young man, strolling alone through a land shrouded in mist and sadness, finally caught sight of the moon reflected on the weeping surface of a lake.