the passing of an age

There's this funny feeling today. I keep remembering the times that have passed. Times when I was younger, in my late teens, and times when I was perhaps happier, even though I didn't realize it at that time. And not only in thoughts, but also the smells of particular times, places and moments that wafted in and lingered at the back of my throat. Those times of carefree Sundays and rainy afternoons. Those times when I was young.

And more than once I felt... fragile?

***

A few days ago I was sitting by my desk by the window. It was a dazzling spring afternoon, and I saw how beautiful the scenery was. First the window - a long, white, and elegantly-paned bay window that extended down from the ceiling; then the building opposite painted in yellow that reminded me of Miami; fronted by a lone tree and lamppost, the sky was blue beyond, and neatly scattered with little square puffs of clouds. All framed by the elegant window, presenting a tableau so literally out of the ordinary, so beautiful, like it was a painting brought out into the garden, into a farrago of light.

***

And here I am by the window again, and now it's night. A last night of sorts. Reminds me of that remarkable, brave, beautiful, luminous novel by James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room:

I stand at the window of this great house in the south of France as night falls, the night which is leading me to the most terrible morning of my life. I have a drink in my hand, there is a bottle at my elbow. I watch my reflection in the darkening gleam of the window pane. ...

Only I hope my morning tomorrow wouldn't be the most terrible. Just that it wouldn't be yet another morning.

It would be the morning where I shall mutter to myself with all the joy and lightness of spirit that I can muster: And the lovely night could only last so long. An age has passed, and time belongs to a new day now.