There was a time that my window was open
to a city that seemed to be made of chalk.
Near the window was a small almost dry garden.
It was a time of drought, the ground was crumbled,
and the garden looked dead.
But every morning there came a man holding a bucket full of water and silently went throwing with his hand a few drops of water on the plants.
It was not a watering... it was a kind of ritual sprinkling, so the garden would not die.
And I looked at the plants, at the man, at the drops of water that fell from his slender fingers and my heart got completely happy.
Sometimes I open the window and find the jasmine in bloom...
Sometimes I can see thick clouds...
I catch sight of children going to school...
Sparrows hopping over the wall...
Cats that open and close eyes, dreaming of sparrows...
White butterflies, two by two, as reflected in the mirror of the air...
Wasps that always seem to me the characters of a fairytale...
Sometimes, a rooster sings...
Sometimes, an airplane passes...
Everything is right in its place, fulfilling its destiny...
And I feel completely happy...
But when I speak about these small certain happiness, that are in front of each window, some people say that these things do not exist...
Others say that they exist only in front of my windows...
And others, finally, the most sensible ones say that we must learn to look in order to see everything as well.
Cecília Meireles
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