Life
An ungrateful path that leaves you on your toes to look at you on the ground, that path where you must learn to get up despite sometimes wanting to stay with your eyes closed and wake up, yes, sometimes the walker is exhausted by the harsh rain that lets him fall to his throat on his face, haha, we are only a leaf that flies in the breeze, without wings we just let ourselves go
What else can the leaf do?
In these times, where the changes are abrupt, the walker stops and looks at his days, those that have passed and he wonders
why, why so many things and there he also looks from the floor that others cannot take that step to get up, those have been much more beaten and smile again with irony at life, but breathe and get up to be the walker.
When we go down the path of thorns, we have more questions than answers, seeing that landscape that has been painted along the steps, are we really special? Or are we just suffering from a complex of being superiors? one of the punishments of being rational beings is a thousand questions that invade every time, it is there when the door opens and lets you see that life is she for being full of stumbles that make you fight to continue, to go forward in search of your horizon If it weren't for all those thorns, Miss Life would be very boring, that fight paints her colors, your color or mine, depending on what you want to see, walker, total is just a dream to learn.
One of those days I sat in front of the landscape, still, with subtlety of lagoon water, see how the artist paints our lives, he expresses in his image the history of millions of men who have walked the roads with his magic leaves on the painting hundreds of things that go through his mind, does not let it be easy for us because we would fall into the routine of days without stories to tell the grandchildren, those who will walk a path by which we will guide if we mark a path in our children.
There calm, calm we are that water that rests in the lagoon, that that is left to sway with the wind and is life itself in each drop, nature, it balances the mind, the shamelessness that plays past if you do not calm it with peace of a breath. I breathe, scold the mind and give it a quiet touch with the voice of conscience, the one that speaks when we transform into the painter's pincél and call another day to continue walking life, but this time with the love of sighing.
Our roots extend from that first day, they want to drink from the cup that quenches their thirst, they lengthen with each step and if you feed them with tranquility, they will know where you come from and they will tell the story that will make you get up every time you stumble, because You are what you sow, because that is what you reap, shepherd or wolf, although they come from the same ranch, one cares and the other attacks, put yourself on the hand of the great painter and write your story.
After the storm, calm appears and it is there when you realize that life is beautiful because it is not boring, just get up and follow the path and if you fall do it again walker that your destiny is to walk and make way for it to arrive to those of other days, those who are to come, because although some believe that life ends with them, it is not like that, she keeps walking whether you are or not, so you better speed up your pace and know who writes the letters that dictates the voice: laugh, cry, enjoy, fall, get up and continue, you are a walker and if you want nothing will stop you.
Camera: Panasonic lumix DMC-FZ50.
Lent: Leica 1: 2.8-3.7 / 7.4-88.8.
Location: Villa de Cura.
Original photographs of willsaldeno, I do not edit the photos, because I like to put only what I achieve with the camera and not something improved with an editor.
