In the Quiet Morning

 

U mojem srcu pjevale su ptice

U tiha jutra, za sunčanih sati.

Birds were singing in my heart, in the quiet morning during the sunny hours.

Dobrisa Ceasric (missing accents over the first s and the second c), Moje jutro u Maksimiru

The words from this sad poem written by one of Croatia's famous temporary poets seems to fit, in an odd way, with what I am experiencing this morning. In the quiet morning, during the sunny hours, I find myself sensing something in the air.

What is it that is in the air here? Something subtle yet soothing, gentle yet powerful.  It is true that it is my first trip to Europe and I have nothing to compare it to, but I feel this place is special in some invisible way I have yet to understand. There is something in the air carried with the aroma of strong coffee steaming from the cup I hold in my hands, with the salt from the Adriatic, with the hum of the native tongue vibrating in the background.   It is a peaceful feeling I am left with, a sense of being home even though I am thousands of miles from where this human I call me has circled a spot on the map and labelled as home.  I realize as I hear the ancient church bells in the distance that the world is a small place...much smaller than I ever imagined when I boarded the plane days ago.  That is what is in the morning air during this sunny hour, I guess: The truth of the inter-beingness of all humans. There is some connecting force carried by the morning breeze reminding me that we are no different, regardless of what language we speak, the colour of our skin, the religions we practice, where we were born on this globe, or whatever we tell ourselves and the world we are. There is only the superficial distinctions but no difference that matters. ...that really matters. Under our skin, our flapping tongues, the flags we wave in the air...we are all one. That is what the Croatian morning air has brought to my attention. We are all one. Sigh.

All is well in my world.