Ah but dear father when the smile breaks across her face it is spring again. It is a breeze of fresh air in the face, a cold glass of wine on a sultry summer evening, a music of flowers and waves and you feel the world drift away.
And sometimes when I watch her I see myself again, a boy walking along a mountain-path in the high Pyrenees, face to face with the mystery of love for the first time and never blinking.
And I know this moment is the beginning of my life and its end, the sun shining down, the mountain thyme round my feet, my heart in a paradise that wil never fade.
Ah be sure I know all you speak of. But it is not life. It is a mad dream, a veil thrown across our eyes by a jaelous god, a mist that drifts down over life but it comes from a different world and it can never come to good in this.
You will see when it passes, and you shrink back from the ugliness of this world, the small/mindedness of people, the emptiness of life. Better never to have seen the vision.
For is it not said, that he who looks into the sun shall be blind and mad ere long?
Ah but is it not also said, that he who never sees the light shall never recognize the sun when it rises in the depths of his heart?
