It was just a moment. A moment in his life. Brief. Seize the moment. How did you seize a moment? He had never asked himself that question before. It had sprung up in his mind and lingered there, as he stood close to the edge where land ended and sea began. Gusts of wind blew his light-brown curls in all directions as he stood there with knitted brow, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked up at the sky with eyes that now seemed as troubled and as dark a blue as the sea roaring below him. Dark grey clouds gathered above his head. He looked down at the restless waves breaking against the rocks. A very strong gust of wind made him take a few steps back from the precipice. He could hear the rumble of the thunder in the distance. The kind of weather to suit a depressed person. Except he wasn't depressed. Merely thoughtful, and perhaps a little sad. How was he supposed to enjoy every moment when he knew that they wouldn't last? He had always taken life for granted. Never stood still to realise. He was being aware now. Aware of each second passing. It made him sad. When he looked back at his life so far, trying to get an overview, seeing the different stages, the joys and sorrows, he was sad that it was made up of moments that had passed, but at the same time grateful that at least they had been, and that they were his. He was aware of the thunderstorm drawing nearer, the darkness closing in on him, and the raindrops starting to fall from the clouds. A flash of lightning suddenly pierced through the heavy darkness, followed by a loud clap of thunder. He was enjoying the violence of the weather, the feel of wind and rain on his face, the smell of salt and wet earth, the sound of thunder and waves hitting rocks, and the sight of the deep blue of sky and sea. He sensed the moment, and yet there was more than just the use of his five senses. He was aware of his surroundings, what was outside of him, but also of what was inside him. His thoughts and his feelings. And yet more beyond that. But it was unreachable. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach as tumultuous as the weather. Did seizing the moment mean being aware and enjoying it in spite of its evanescence? Perhaps awareness wasn't enough. Perhaps you had to be the moment, for as long as it lasted, and then let it go and move on. Move forwards. Seizing the moment was nothing more than accepting and letting go. If you tried desperately to hold on to something you could not enjoy it. He was beginning to see, to make some sense out of his conflicting emotions, by using his mind. Life should not consist merely of a chase after new experiences, of living just with the senses, only for enjoyment. There had to be a higher purpose. He needed a purpose in his life. What if all those fleeting moments led to nothing? It would make his life useless, and he did not want to be useless all his life. He wanted to enjoy every moment, but not just for the sake of enjoyment, empty pleasure. He was not afraid of life. He did not want to miss out on anything. As long as it would not be meaningless. He thought it was possible to seize the moment, to live life to the fullest, as long as you realised that right next to evanescence was eternity. He smiled, a smile that reached his eyes and lit up his face. He wiped the wet strands of hair from his smiling face, turned the collar of his jacket up, turned around and slowly walked back to the parking lot in the little coastal village. He was soaking wet, but he didn't mind, even though he was shivering.

A gust of wind slammed the door shut behind him. A high-pitched female voice came from upstairs: 'Is that you, Will?'�
'Yes, it's me!'� he called back, taking off his drenched jacket and hanging it on a peg on the wall next to the front door. He was just taking off his sodden shoes when a tall, thin girl came running down the stairs.
'Will! Why on earth did you go out in this weather?'� she exclaimed.
'It wasn't like this when I left, Jenny,'� Will said evenly. He bent forwards to give her a kiss, but Jennifer backed away from him.
'No! Don't kiss me. You are wet through!'� she objected, her annoyance clearly visible on her face. 'Where did you go and why didn't you say you were going? I've been worried about you. You've been gone for two hours!'�
'I went to Lulworth Cove,'� he said, pushing past her and walking up the stairs.
'But why?'� Jennifer called to his back. He did not answer her, so she followed him up the narrow winding staircase. She found him in the tiny bathroom, which she had cleaned thoroughly that morning so that every white tile gleamed. He was drying his wet curls with a towel. She stood in the doorway, watching Will with a disapproving look in her light-blue eyes. The look became slightly milder when Will took off his wet T-shirt and jeans. He did not look at her.
'Will, I asked you why you went there,'� she tried again, her tone less demanding and more pleading. He turned his face in her direction, but he still did not look directly at her with bluish green, or greenish blue, eyes. The windows to his soul. He had shut them on Jennifer. He shifted his gaze to the full-length mirror in which he saw her taking in his reflection. She was tracing his features with her eyes, the straight nose, almost feminine full upper lip, ears protruding from the mass of damp curls. He then saw her eyes move to his slender body, his bare chest, a little tanned from the few rays of sun it had caught, to his grey underpants, long hairy legs, and finally, his dirty grey socks. He felt her eyes burning into his skin. She smiled. How odd her mirrored smile looked. He would not smile back at her, give her the satisfaction of showing her the dimples in his cheeks. How well she knew his body. Her eyes had wandered back to his face. He met her gaze in the mirror. Appreciation. Yet also a tinge of apprehension. She was so easy to read. Her windows were wide-open. She looked at him as if she was mentally painting his portrait. She was good at capturing surfaces. Yet his soul was forever slipping through her fingers. He would not let her probe too deep. What if his love for her only existed on the surface, and she would find out? Better not let her go beyond the surface she seemed to love so much.

In a four-poster bed with pink hangings in a room much too small to contain it, so that the door could only be opened a few inches, Will was lying among tumbled sheets, bathing in the sunlight that shone through the pink, flowery curtains billowing in the breeze that blew through the open window. He opened his eyes. At first he couldn't see anything, the bright light blinded him. After blinking a few times and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, though the bags underneath could not be rubbed away, he grew accustomed to the light and could see the blue square of sky shining through the see-through curtains. He then noticed that the white T-shirt he slept in was drenched in sweat and that the sheets were lying more on the floor than on the huge bed, which seemed even bigger when lying alone in it. He yawned, stretched, then picked up the alarm-clock from the floor, no room for bedside-tables, and saw that it was noon already. The prospect of a warm and sunny day was not unpleasant, but he was reluctant to get out of bed. He had hoped he would wake up as his usual cheerful self, but apparently the thoughtful, slightly sombre mood had still not gone. He wondered what caused it. Just a few minutes more he lay still, looking up at the blue sky, postponing the moment of getting up and facing the rest of the day. Thoughts came and went randomly. He could not order them. Still too sleepy. Too tired to even bother. Not because he had just woken up. He was tired all the time. And yet also restless. But how could he be both tired and restless? How paradoxical could you be? That was what he felt like, though. Paradox personified. He laughed at himself, and instantly felt better. He got up, picked up the sheets and threw them back on the bed. Then he went to the window to open the curtains and take a deep breath of this last day of July. He manoeuvred his way out of the small bedroom into the smaller bathroom to take a quick shower. As he walked down the stairs his nose was happy to smell coffee. It led him to the kitchen, surprisingly the only place in the cottage where you could actually move about. The stone floor tiles felt pleasantly cold beneath his bare feet. It was a typical country kitchen, with the wooden kitchen units, gingham curtains, and of course an old-fashioned stove. Will found the coffee pot on the long wooden table which stood in the middle of the rectangular room. He poured himself a mug, wondering where Jennifer had got to. He took a sip, burned his palate, then noticed that the French windows were open. He walked through them into the garden, steaming mug in hand. There she was, sitting on one of the uncomfortable garden chairs, with an easel in front of her. Will wished he could paint Jennifer painting. She was all concentration. He liked observing her when she was unaware of his presence. She had braided her long, thin, white-blonde hair, and was wearing what she always wore when painting; an old dark-blue shirt of his, now covered with paint stains of all imaginable colours. Quietly he moved closer to her until he stood right behind her, so he could study the painting.
'Is it any like them, Will?'� she asked, without turning around. So she had felt his presence. He looked at the photograph of Jennifer's parents lying on her lap, and then at the portrait.
'Yes, you're getting there,'� he said honestly. Jennifer laid aside her palette and paint brushes, and turned around to face Will.
'Up already?'� she asked with a sarcastic smile on her freckled face.
'Yes, I thought I'd get up early today,'� Will replied with a straight face.
'Coffee not too strong?'�
'No, it's perfect, thank you.'� He sat down on one of the other chairs, and continued: 'Talking about your parents, when will they be back exactly?'�
Jennifer tucked a strand of hair she had accidentally dyed blue, to match her father's shirt, behind her ear, as she was thinking.
'You don't know?'� Will asked, surprised.
'No, I do know, but'�well, they were supposed to stay in Spain for three weeks, and they've been gone for two now, but last Thursday Mum called and said they might be coming home a few days earlier, because it's getting a bit too hot out there. Which is probably for the best, because they're far too English for that kind of heat. I can just picture them, dad in his shorts and sandals, every part of bare flesh covered with sun-block, and Mum in her long summer dress and wide-rimmed hat, sitting together in the shade all day long, drinking iced tea!'�
When Jennifer talked, she always gestured wildly with her hands, and she could make everything sound interesting, be enthusiastic about the most unimportant little things. Will had always liked that about her.
'I can picture them too!'� he said, smiling. Jennifer's heart skipped a beat at the sight of that smile. She had made him smile at last.
'But why did you ask? Do you want to go back to London? Have you had enough fresh country air?'� she asked, smiling back at him.
'No, I asked for no other reason than curiosity,'� Will lied. He loved being in this part of the country and could not get enough fresh country air, after all those months in crowded London. Then why did he want Jennifer's parents to come back? So he would not have to be alone with Jenny anymore? Was that it? They had never been together for this long. At twenty-four this was his most serious relationship so far. A whole year! But during that year they did not spend every waking and sleeping hour together. Sometimes Jennifer would stay at Will's place for a while, or the other way around, but there were always roommates. It wasn't that he had a fear of commitment or anything. He just wasn't sure if Jenny was the one he wanted to commit to. He looked at her pretty face and remembered the first time he had seen her. It had been at the Italian restaurant in London where he waited tables. She had been a new waitress. It hadn't taken them long to fall in love with each other. They had so much in common. Both creative, she struggling to sell her paintings, he struggling to land a part in a play. Perhaps they had too much in common? They both loved living in London, to live in a city that was always alive. They liked going out with their friends. They surrounded themselves with others. Will realised now that this was the reason they had lasted as long as they had. He looked up at the steep dark-green hill that bordered the large garden, and the blue above it. All this beauty. This silence. He hoped the tranquillity of his surroundings would rub off on him, but so far the opposite had happened. He had felt more at peace with himself during his always-in-a-hurry-days in London. Why did that surprise him? Wasn't it a cliché that when in a peaceful environment you were confronted with yourself, because there was nowhere to run to, to submerge yourself in noise, avoid honestly seeing yourself? It probably was, but the experience was very new to Will. Actually, he had not been at peace with himself in London. He'd just been ignoring it, by focusing on his part in the play he was in at the time, one of those modernised versions of a Shakespeare play that left hardly anything of the original intact. Will had tried his utmost best to stay as true to his namesake as possible in his rendering of Mercutio, but it had been quite a challenge. He had been so happy to have got a part in this version of Romeo and Juliet, and quite an important part at that. Granted, it wasn't the lead, but he had no ambition in that direction whatsoever. He wasn't well 'known enough. Still, it was difficult becoming well-known when he never played the lead role. No, he had long since given up his quest for fame. He was satisfied to be known by the few. As long as he could keep on acting every once in a while. This was what he told himself after every audition. He told himself time and again, but this was no guarantee that he listened. Because of course he wanted to be able to earn his living by doing what he loved best. And the only way to earn a living as an actor was to be famous. He could try to deny it, but deep down he was as ambitious as all the other young actors fighting for a place in the spotlight. But ambition wasn't such a bad thing, was it? Without it he wouldn't get anywhere in life. Wasn't he also ambitious when it came to his love life? Before Jenny that ambition had been centred on going home with the hottest girl in the nightclub. Now he wasn't at all sure what it centred on. He had no wish to go back to his bachelor lifestyle completely, but he also didn't see himself proposing to Jenny in the near future. So why was he still with her if he knew their relationship wouldn't last? Stupid question. When had he become so old-fashioned? Why was he even thinking about commitment? His blue-green thoughtful eyes turned away from the green hill and blue sky to observe Jennifer. He looked at her bare feet touching the grass, her long tanned legs, the shirt that had once been blue and was much too large for her slender body, the tiny white-blonde curls that had escaped from her braid encircling her freckled face, the paintbrush in her mouth, and the concentrated expression in her big pale-blue eyes. Why think about the future? He would hold on to their love, however deep or shallow it was. They were here, now. That was all that mattered. He put a lid on the uneasy feeling in his stomach of the last couple of days. Abruptly he got up from the garden chair, walked over to Jennifer and placed a kiss on the nape of her neck.

Will walked to the edge of the cliff, and sat down on the grass after having kicked off his shoes. The sun, which was starting its descent, cast a golden glow on the cove. Hard to believe this was actually the North Sea. It looked more like the Mediterranean. The sky was of a blue a shade lighter than the sea, and the air was warm and dry. Here he was, the end of the day, letting his mind wander while feasting his eyes. He let them roam over the greyish white cliffs, the blue sky and sea, while revelling in the touch of the last golden sunshine on his skin, the tickling of the long dry grass against his bare feet and tanned legs, and the wind blowing through his curls. He breathed slowly in and out, as if he could inhale the cool, soothing blue of the air and water to cleanse his troubled mind. Oh for the serenity to rub off on him. To feel calm and at ease. Stillness inside. No more stirring unrest. To not be blue, but to be like the colour blue, as cool and as calm, yet not cold. Never that. Why was the colour red always associated with love? Because it was a warm colour of course. But it was also associated with lust and even anger, with fiery emotions. Why wasn't blue seen as the colour of love? The colour love would have if it were visible. Because love ought to be as peaceful and as serene as the colour blue, as ever present as the sky and sea. Just as simple and natural. In essence uncomplicated. Essential. No beginning, no end. Clear vision. No blindness. To plunge into that vast blueness, but not to drown. To breathe in, to drink in pure love. He wanted to dive, to swim, to be submerged in blue, but then to resurface and float on the still surface, not get drawn into the whirlpool. Perhaps even to leap out of the water and soar off'�some day.
Will was getting tired of following the stream of his thoughts, so he let it meander on. He was sitting there in the yellow grass, breathing in every little detail. Trying to live in the moment as it passed him by. Moments passed him by the faster the more he held on to them. He drank in the beautiful view. Only a few people were walking around on the cliff, but the beach was still quite crowded. He watched the boats bobbing up and down on the calm deep-blue surface. He was just happy to be there. His dreams were hovering around him, almost tangible, but he did not reach out for them. He let them float above his head, but was careful to not let the wind carry them away. To be completely without dreams. A state of being he could only dream about. No hopes. No expectations. A wish to end all wishing. A dream to dream no more. To have no desires was indeed something to be desired. Always that craving to be still inside. Yet how to reach it without movement? He did not want to stand still. He closed his eyes. He wished, in spite of his wish to have no wishes, he could see ahead. How could he tell what was meant to be and what wasn't? He couldn't see far ahead. No matter. Nothing would ever come to an end. All he could do was to move along perpetually.

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