”What is the key to happiness”,
you ask me.
Alas, I know no more on the same.
But one autumn noon,
as we chased a run-away balloon
like children in a park,
running behind grasshoppers,
our laughter mixed with the wafting breeze,
that picked up dry leaves outside,
and blew them about, so they looked like butterflies.
“We were happy then, weren’t we?”, I ask. You nod.
Perhaps happiness too was like those dry leaves in fall, that the wind blew about…
…just lying there by the sides of the road,
at a hands distance,
and yet fleeing at a moment’s notice,
just as I close my fist around one…
Like a feather in a wind,
(under a spell)
flying near and around your fingers,
a little above your nose,
tempting you to hold,
and just as you are about to catch,
flying away like the run-away balloon,
like a baby’s laughter,
that breaks in through the stillness of your solitude,
“What then is happiness, but a carefree, run-away balloon?!”
that has just escaped, being caught.