Equinox

It's a space of time, a particular moment that keeps reminding me of the natural cycle of life, but also with force and truculence that everything is movement. And yet, I can't help thinking that these singular winds, this sudden force of the tides, all the striking colors of autumn respond without the slightest insolence to the sole rhythm of the universe in which the earth is only a tiny part.  And what if all those orange-red leaves swaying in the gusts of wind were to sting my face only to torment me, forcing me to extract myself from my body and seek a parallel to the scenery that the creator - there must be one - has laid beneath my feet, above and all around me. Isn't this fragment of time, during which the season becomes stronger, precisely there to bring me to exaltation. 
Under the cover of a more than precarious calm, a slight lull, the leaves of the trees resume a gentler aerial waltz, more conducive to observation, contemplation and reflection. All is truculence, then all seems calm before being tossed about again, violated by an unfailing energy...
And what if these leaves rushing through the air were nothing more than little words recounting the past season and announcing the new one that's just beginning. What if the tree, which strips itself of everything that made it majestic, was only performing this rite to invite me to do the same, to leave behind the season that's coming to an end, and embrace, naked and new, the season that's about to begin. I, too, am part of this celestial rite, this universal rhythm that commands movement with no other choice than that of continuity. 
What if all these waves carrying the sea beyond its usual boundaries were simply the result of a groundswell that hates immobility? Movement feeds on energy and simultaneously diffuses energy. Movement distributes light and shadow, spring and autumn but also their companions, summer and winter, both coming to terms with their solstice. I now know that under the cover of this equinox, the sun doesn't play with its rays without harmonizing them with those of the Moon, or even without worrying about the Earth's trajectories. These two are masters of the quest and sharing of space, and are governed by a force, an energetic intelligence that can only tear my spirit apart. All this turbulence is akin to what could be compared to the vision of all my life's ills, my moments of happiness or pain and the obligation, whatever the cost, to continue, to move forward.   And what if each of its leaves, each of its great waves, summoned the strength of a second of life that it's preferable to sublimate. What if this space-time were simply inviting me, with a prodigious demonstration of strength, to realize that a single second of life weighs a great deal and that I simply must sublimate them all. 
I have a feeling... 
What if the celestial was inviting me, with this great demonstration, to intensify every second of my earthly life in order to optimize it. I think I perceive a gleam of strong intensity. I must move, dance, love and live even more intensely, without delay, without wasting a single second.

Stéphane Théri