Beauty: On those who stop to smell the roses (Scary)

First up, a letter of Beauty. TW: fear of losing out, disturbing mental images, mortality. Again, I would rather be a responsible, overly cautious blogger by letting you know what you’re getting into. Enjoy!

Bees buzz and birds chirp. Sunlight filters through the trees and the river ebbs and flows. It is a beautiful spring day. 

You sit down under a huge shady oak tree, gazing out over the world. You can’t believe nature can actually look this way. You can’t remember feeling this sense of wonder since you were a child. 

Think back to the fairytale you were told religiously: about the one who stole children at night if they hadn’t come home before dark. It scared you. It scared you so much it changed your life. You never dawdled from that point on. You’ve never stopped to smell the roses. 

And now you’re not a child and you wonder if that tale was even real. Or if it would still apply. You’ve lived your life more cautiously, more responsibly because of it. 

And what do you have to show for it now?

You live in a modest apartment, you pay your bills on time and punch the clock from 9 to 5. You will die, knowing that you lived a perfectly safe and polite life. 

You met expectations. 

But there is a nagging at the back of your mind. 

What would happen if you just stopped...just this once. To linger. 

As you tilt your head back against the tree, you see something out of the corner of your eye. Something moving fast and headed right past you. A horse as dark as night. Follow it.
Follow it.

Follow it.

Follow it

Follow it. 

What have you got to lose. Go now or live in regret.

It rears back on its hind legs, whinnying, before running deeper into the woods. 

You jump up and run as fast as you can, but human legs can’t gallop the same way horses can. It is out of sight and now you are somewhere in the middle of the woods. A soft giggle fills your ears and a voice, neither masculine nor feminine, beckons to you. 

“People like to ignore the magic in the world,” it says. 

Your grandma spoke of a secret spring. Your parents let her tell her stories, but always reminded you that grandma was senile. They said she didn’t know what was real anymore and you took their word as truth. It was guarded by a spirit who loved to be showered in gifts, and in return, would bless those who visited with good health and fortune. 

And now you are standing at the base of a waterfall, gazing at an altar made of shells, candles and bottles. A pair of reading glasses sit atop the altar and they look terribly familiar.

“Stay as long as you like. I will guide you home.” 

Breathe in, breathe out. This is real. 

Listen to the rushing water. 

It isn’t until a tiny blue light appears that you realize the sky is now black.

Where has the time gone. 

You should go. 

The will-o-the-wisp leads you to your front door, safe and sound. 

You take a shower like you always do. 

But you feel different. Something new has awakened. 

A sense of curiosity. 

What will this new world that you’ve only gotten to know today teach you tomorrow? 

You slide into your bed, turn out the light and your breath catches. 

You are gasping for air. 

It feels as though cement is being poured into your lungs. 

You will die tonight.

Life is precious because it ends.

Because when lived to the fullest, when completely appreciated…there’s no telling when your time will come. 

It was just a matter of time before you gave in to temptation.