8. Extraordinariness of ordinariness

Thursday afternoon. Guilin Park, Shanghai. Sunny, warm, but a little bit windy weather. I’m walking around Guilin Park and wondering about beauty of this old Chinese-style garden. I’m taking pictures of marvelously shaped stones and caves that are surrounded by green grass, trees and water creating a peaceful composition of nature harmony. In meantime somewhere in garden someone is playing on cello rehearsing a song known to me by ear but not by name.

I’m watching “the Marble Boat” placed in the middle of water. Behind me are standing three girls, photographers, who are taking picture of each stone and flower. A simple nature beauty hidden in details of those stones seems to be amazing itself, however, I wouldn’t imagine myself taking picture of each daisy, magnolia or other plant.

I’m continuing my way around Guilin Park. In a moment I see a bench hidden in the shade of huge magnolia tree. Short break. A sip of water let me refresh myself and feel relax. I’m closing my eyes to hear the cello that still is audible in a background. Somewhere people are whispering, probably in Italian. Tourists. I see them taking pictures of each other. They are just next to those girls who with a passion are watching water lilies.

So funny reflection came to me when I realized I did a similar way as those girls taking picture of stones. Can simple life be as charming as the simple nature’s beauty does? Why we’re chasing something that seems to be extraordinary, whereas that something we can have at fingertips searching for extraordinary in just ordinary, everyday life?

With these questions I’m leaving Guilin Park and coming back home. I’m heading to main exit. Soundless walk, only what I hear are singing birds and playing music in headphones I wore to get in mood. I’m listening to the song named “I Giorni”. I’m passing through the gate. I turn my head to the last window in garden. The view I see, seems to me looks like it’s painted. Memorable moment. No queries it’s one of ordinary views, just garden, however extraordinary to me is the moment of impression I feel. Just exit.


“I Giorni” by Ludovico Einaudi

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