Cloud in head

Although the sun is hanging in the sky like a bookkeeper that just signed up for the workshop 'the art of clowning', I don't feel that way at all. My head feels if a dark cloud has decided to live inside my skull. My thoughts are foggy, my line of reasoning is blurred, my existence is vague.

     To be honest, my existence always has had elements of vagueness. Even at primary school when the schoolteacher asked us what we would like to be when grown up, I had had no idea what to tell. My friends surely knew. They would become fire fighters, nurses, football players, musicians, princesses, policemen, artists or ice cream sellers.

    So far, I have coped with it. Through some miraculous occasions and circumstances I have become a decent resident of the decent country I'm living in. I have a decent job, I live in a decent house, my acquaintances are decent people.

      But lately some doubts have been creeping into my life. The frail ignorance has been replaced by sturdy haziness. Maybe because I'm getting older. Maybe the world doesn't allow me anymore to be so innocent and oblivious?

      I have no idea when the dark cloud became a tenant of my thoughts. But suddenly I realized I was not alone anymore. Maybe that's the reason I believed I had to take a break. I had to step out of my sullen rhythm of work and sleep. Some nights of good rest would certainly expel my fuzzy thinking.

      My brother in law recommended me an apartment in the neighbourhood in the Italian city of Trento. He knows I love being outside. The ragged mountains, the friendly valleys, the stretched out landscapes, the confined lakes.

      And he is right. I love the scenery, the natural beauty. Every day I take a walk. To the nearby village, to the lake. The hiking trails are narrow and winding. But you got used to them. After a few days I feel like home. The pastry baker greets me when I enter his shop, and I order some pieces of strudel. Apfelstrudel.

But the cloud remains in my head. I stand at the bank of the lake and I see the sailing boats, the swimmers. I hear them laugh, I see them enjoying their activities. I notice how the serious waves are reflecting the silly sunlight. I sense how the thoughtful birds move through the careless air.

      But as I walk on, I can as well be a salt pillar.

      The day before I will leave I discover a sign board. It reads: 'Le cima della montagna'. A path to the top? To the summit? I must have passed the mountain several times without noticing it. For the first time I look up. Although the beech, oaks and spruces  obstruct my view, I can see a glimpse of the top.

      She smiles. Like my pastry baker.

      First the first time in my life I feel I know where to go to. Resolute I take the ascending path. However, already after a few bends I start getting tired. This is the first hurdle I will encounter, as I soon will find out. Besides exhaustion, my legs are beginning to burn if I'm standing right in the middle of a fireplace. On top of that a headache splits my head like a pickaxe.

     Only after one hour I fall down on the barren ground. Now my body trembles and quivers as if all the demons from the local swine have entered my abdomen. I want to cry for failure, I want to scream for defeat.

      Till I lift my head. Till I see the view. The valley, the lowland. A world smaller than the words written in the palm of my hand.

     A world bigger than the illusions carved in my memories.

     And again. Again that feeling. Destination. Haven. Like a pilgrim with amnesia suddenly regains his awareness.

     Lying on my back. I stare at the sun. A bookkeeper just signed up for the training 'the art of clowning'. I don't feel becoming a clown. I do feel of opening my eyes, being vigilant, to give my opinion, to walk on water, to change water into wine.

      And I feel hungry. I shouldn't forget. Before becoming super human, I have to buy some pieces of strudel. Apfelstrudel.