Pink Floyd - Cluster One
(the waterside it was. where i sat. looking out.
there was a sun all right. hanging low and tired but in tune with the world. she was only slightly hidden behind a broad, long-drawn shroud of cloud, starting somewhere in the infinity hovering above the horizon in front of me, and ending way behind me, way above me. a cloud thick enough to pale this light into a pastel shine. a cloud thin enough to interweave with the almost reddening sun, almost painting a Turner.
it should have been an abomination how waterside industry mingled with the original inhabitants: trees and all sorts of plants. but it wasn't. it just fit. windmills generating electricity. low and heavy buildings of certain unknown functions. a valley of electricity pylons on a peninsula.
oh, and water.
water like the piano notes. slow, meandering. mesmerizing. me.
water like the carefully singing guitar, blinking notes somewhere in between joy and sadness.
thoughts and branches floating downstream along the river, ignoring anything in their path. if they got stuck, they got stuck. if not, they kept on floating toward what would one day be the sea somewhere. hard to believe that. no sea in sight. just the river.
so gently the drums. they don't intervene, they don't disturb. they just merge.
the image was so big, as if it was the largest photograph i have ever seen. every microscopic fragment of my retina saw everything at once; what i perceived had the span of the world and i even saw myself sitting in it, like a small Friedrich figure. the scene enveloped me as i tried enveloping it vice versa.
somewhere in between joy and sadness. the music. but peace. so much peace. how i miss sitting there. how i will always be sitting there.
oh, and at one point: three hot air balloons. against the evening sky.)