Authors, writers, and poets are called so due to their immense ability to weave experiences into realms of words-creators of a blissful haven. Intricately described, the essence of a memory from a trip to Switzerland. Across bare-laden fields and acres of lush lands, I briefly write about my ecstatic experience.

I swiftly pass the kitchen, heavily dragging my feet across the marble-tiled floor, chills passing up my bare feet. My attention fixes on the sweet, crisp air entering my lungs and livening my senses. I suck in a rush of cool air, as if in an attempt to hold on to the sole chip of memory of that place that relied on my senses. My mind draws a string back in time, reeling reality into memories and fantasy. I remember that paradise and the longing to go back. The memory, a verdant oasis of tranquility and serenity, and yet engraved with a dismal abyss of disappointment and despair.

The passionate fragrance of cinnamon and the alleviating scent of wet mud after a shower of rain flooded across acres of fields. As I lay lifeless, buried within the comforting enclosure of moist, lush grass with newly settled dew, the sounds of life drawn around me overwhelmed my senses.

Rustling of leaves, as if wafer-thin sheets of crumpled paper softly brushing against each other, a soothing yet overbearing sound, as its essence filled the silent void of the pastures surrounding me. Delicate melodies of nesting songbirds penetrated my ears, but soft, from a distant meadow, as if in a perfected harmony with the swaying leaves.

Taking my surroundings in, I heavily lift my eyelids, the sun blurring my vision, an indistinct, vague, black shade reigning my eyes shut. As I steadily gain my vision back, my eyes freeze, in admiration and disbelief, leaving me struck as a hypnotized duckling. Surrounding me, lay acres of minimized sunflower fields, each petal glimmering with intensity. The warmth of the scene engulfed me, as the yellow flowers merged into liquid gold, shimmering with the luster of dew drops under the gleaming sun. It was as if they were one, each flower grazing side to side in synchronization, a euphony of million, tiny twinkling lights all blinking with definition.

I was left unable to move, my gaze stuck on the mesmerizing tranquility of the bed of sunflowers. In a feeble attempt to gain action, I grazed my tongue against my lips, as if to relight the devoid feeling of any of my senses. Leather. It felt as if my lips were depleted of complete dampness from the waves of air splashing against my skin. Moisture crept into the cracks and crevices of my lips, bringing a part of me back to life.

Only once had I regained all perception of reality and consciousness, could I see the far-off silhouettes of familiar bodies waving towards me, in remote isolation, outlying the flower fields. I softly sighed, knowing I had to withdraw my presence from this oasis. The despair flooded me, I was aware the only embedment I would have of this bliss in my memory was the sculpture of this panorama engraved into my essence. This nirvana, and the feeling of ecstasy, something I would never forget, and the longing to go back.

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