Time stops. Although who knows when it began. Before that tree root entered my life, time was continuing on its usual course. The seconds passing by unnoticed, the minutes dwindling away, the hours we wished we could redo, the days we look back on, the weeks that made no difference, the months that fade from our immediate memory, the years that are a footprint in our lives that will end at a roadblock at some point or another. Such a tiny tree root, needed for the trees nourishment but a trouble for those with clumsy feet. And perhaps I was destined to meet that tree root, at a time when I have forty pound buckets of water in each hand. And of course, as I fall to the ground, I want something to blame for my misfortune, don’t I? Something deserves to be cursed for the cuts on my hands, and the pain that goes up through my knees. And of course, who else is there to blame? Myself? My foot just simply happened to connect with the tree root. There is nothing I could change in this event. Or blame the tree root. But it’s not its fault that its owner simply decided to grow in that spot. However, the sound of the falling buckets is so compelling. To hear the buckets hit the ground, to hear the sound of water splashing. And to see! To see the water trickling down the path, between each separate twig, pinecone, pebble. Or to see the droplets of water that catch the setting sun or reflect the green leafy boughs of the alders. With this, how is it even a misfortune? Without the root, without the heavy water buckets, without my foot, I never would have experienced such sensations. And then I think about all the “misfortunes” I’ve had. All of them had one thing positive, or one thing good as a result of the bad. Now, without misfortunes, there is no reason to complain, for I can be happy with the good things that resulted from my hardship. But then, without fate and misfortune, what is there to blame?

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