Winter arabesque (a thousand and one stories)

Gandhi once wrote "My religion is based on truth and non-violence. Truth is my God. Non-violence is the means of realising Him".

Dear fellow explorers, one more week has passed and the cold hasn't gone away. The first true winter in many many years, or so they say. The weather patterns have changed, the planet has changed, the people who inhabit it have changed. Getting warmer and faster, or so they say. And I would like to ask you a question, please think about it for a minute before you continue reading, close your eyes if you want, and try to visualize it, picture the words, as in a big banner, with a white canvass where you can paint the answer in big, black, bold letters.

The question is: Through the years, what remains the same in your life?

Close your eyes, breathe, see the white canvas, breathe, paint it with your true words, your true, big, black, bold answer.

The kid's playground lies in such a mess. They have not cleaned the remnants of the battle yet (from the periquitos' attack) waged by the two warring families who had the misfortune of giving birth to one of their children on the same day. They have not spoken to each other since. So the green periquitos camp at ease all over the place and have eaten whatever remained of the cake. But the Gardens are teeming with life.

It's a bright Sunday morning, sun beams warm up the faces of the elderly people sitting on the benches, hypnotized, with their eyes shut, silent. Not far away, in the dog park, pets run in such a short space that their Italian, German and Catalan owners smile at one another. Not far away, a group of Spanish neighbours are playing bowls, some with their own sons and daughters, who must be already in their forties. Not far away, in a square, a group of youngish Pakistani men are playing cricket, cheerful and sweaty. Not far way, closer to the coast, Filipino and Gipsy families prepare their barbecues while the children laugh and roll over the grass. Not far away, youngsters skateboard and bike performing skillful jumps and figures in the air. Ecuadorian, Spanish, Swedish, French, North American, Argentinian. Not far away tall and thin men from Mali and Ivory coast are playing their instruments to the passers-by. Not far away, on the beach walk, all  one thousand and one nationalities converge, strolling, contemplating the sea and the few sails that have left the port today. Some are selling, some are buying, some are resting, some walk to work, some look sad, most have contented expressions.

The tallest trees in Gandhi's Gardens observe and smile. They are gathering sun beams, gathering what they most like. Precious stories and wishes from a thousand and one people, in a thousand and one languages. They marvel at the complexity of human nature and their adaptability, how they overlap, how intricate in detail and nuances, and how they all coexist, peacefully until the arrival of Spring, in a sunny, warm, winter arabesque.

Through the years, what remains the same in your life? 

Close your eyes, breathe, see the white canvas, breathe, paint it with your true words, your true, big, black, bold answer.