A sleepless summer night.
At daybreak, I opened the window. The freshness and coolness of the motionless air. Tree branches frozen as if in a still frame. Neither birdsong nor any other sound has yet broken the silence left by the night. The tops of the pines are lit by the sun’s rays passing through pink clouds. The sky is a clear, translucent blue, with a few light white clouds gently drifting towards me.
What distinguishes this time of day from all the other hours? Why does contemplation come so effortlessly? Why does consciousness grow still along with nature? What is this magic?