Looking out of the window, watching the days go by, and wondering if reality was as real as its name implied.  There was a slight reflection of myself in the window created by the glimmering yellow light bulb of the bed lamp.  The sea in the distance glowing the obscured light of a half moon and the skies as black as ever, with little white dots like salt flakes reflecting the few light that penetrates through the winter clouds.

There was nothing more than sheer silence, accept for the occasional squeaking of the doors from the neighbouring rooms and the soft synchronised sound of little droplets controlled, that seemed as if they could last for ever.  In the distance, planes crossed through the skies like shooting stars un-effected by the earth’s atmosphere.

My thoughts ran faster than my hands could handle and like alcohol evaporated through the midst of the night never to be thought about again.  I thought why it had to be misfortune or ill happenings to make me write. Why it had to be silence to drive my pencil to dance as if it were shy to be seen moving. Like a promising writer who writes then throws his notebook into the sea, so that only the crystalline water can feel his thoughts.

Just next to me is Einstein’s’ Biography and beneath that the National Geographic, looking at me as if questioning why they have been left un-opened for these last days.  Lacking the interest they remain untouched for my thoughts are elsewhere from the science of understanding matter or from comprehending the laws of relativity.  I am questioning what could be my endless search, or maybe just dreaming and looking out there hoping to find the answer.

I then hear a cry, a weeping sorrow, panic, and once again I fall into the pit of questioning, looking out towards what could be an un-answerable horizon.  There is nothing more painful than hearing sorrow here in my own silence.  So then just like religion I look out of the window to alienate myself, to cover my eyes from the reality behind me.  Questioning whether it is the host in me that wants me blind or the society that has bred me for so long helping me to become in such a controllable manner.

My reflection remains motionless as much as thyself and there I remained in silence.

My current fixation with doors has dragged me down once again to Valletta, and for another time I have discovered new angles, new sides which hath remained in the dark for all the time when I visited. Today the light sheds from the warmth of the “lanterns” that have inspired me to look within even further. Accompanied by two friends to observe or appreciate further the magnificence of this place we moved along the narrow streets.

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In pairs we walk through the tunnel, contained through a rusting fence, prohibited from moving around within a diameter of a maximum of 5, maybe 7 meters. The wooden benches carved and tattered, aged through the passage of time and the weathering of this anguished environment, dirty, filthy, unwelcoming. The walls, dug out by the blowing winds of winter and scraped by the scorching rays of summer, a process recalled by these walls for ages. The obscene frescoes on these walls are the only most recent addition which contrary to the rest seem to increase as more of us pass by through the years. Graffiti that display history, nationality and maybe even state of mind.

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No it was Earth Garden organized at the National park in Malta. Visited on Saturday, even though it was grey, rainy and windy. The sun, hidden within a mile thick cloud as grey as a navy vessel, the droplets of rain almost defying the rules of gravity.

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All right so it’s a sunny day and it turns out to be one after a detrimental four day long foggy type of weather which does not permit you to see up to a distance of a few kilometers (Maybe I am too sarcastic here). So together with my wife we decided to make a visit to the old city and enjoy the sun there and chilling out. Grabbed the Cam and off we went.

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