A Tacit espionage of Time
Stirring up the past in a pursuit for the lost subtlety of
my life is something weird you may wonder. The clock is now ticking down fast
while I’m turning to the pages of my diary. You know, I always loved the smell
of old as it had some hidden traces of the past. It is the nostalgic feeling
you get when you open a book used by your great grandfather. Nostalgia an
unexpressive feeling which is unbound to push you to the ages and gives you
experience of a life time. Like exasperation you get when listening to music;
it takes you down, under the abysses of space and time and through the
sepia-tinted glasses it creates an pleasant experience of a gentle breeze embracing
our faces on a mid-summer day.
Time travelling has not been proven yet, nonetheless being
nostalgic produces similar kind of feel. Long ago, in the ages where the mobile
phones were seldom used, I met a guy with dark blue shirt and tattered jeans. Having
lost in a dense forest amid the trees tearing out the clouds to reach the sun
hiding beneath, where following the wind was the only way out of the mazes for
him. So he bent down gathered some dry leaves, crumbled into powder and let fall from the
hand detect the direction if the slightest air is stirring, and he made the
approach accordingly. Nor were any sounds heard save the occasional chattering
of the parquet in the dense forest across the river, a mile distant, and
yet they appeared to be in the immediate vicinity.
