Movement

Life is movement.
The movement that begins before and ends after the advance of clock pointer, dividing what has been from what is yet to come. Movement is going — when staying is no longer enough to change what is needed. A few days of rain; others, of sun — and all of peace. There are days of struggle — all of them — and there are days of rest, to reduce the movement and enjoy what each moment brings, like walking slowly and realizing landscapes that have always been there, where our haste never reaches. It goes on and on — the movement is luck announcing what comes after courage, after the curve of the mountain, after the landscape, after the passage, after the night of clamor, after the proof of love, after the scar without pain, after afterward… Movement is laughing at everything and watching the world with the sun, day and night, light and heat… The world goes round, everything goes round, giramundo, whole hands fragmenting time all the time at the mercy of the wind, slow… A second everything changes, time changes; a smile changes everyone, it changes the moment… The movement is to go, smile,… Now.