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An Evening of Bliss

An Evening of Bliss


Bliss. If you were to ask one hundred people for a definition of this simple, five-letter word, you would most likely come up with one hundred completely different answers. Like most other words that describe emotions or sensations, bliss is an abstract concept that each person must define for himself through his own tastes and desires. By bringing together all the textures, sights, and sounds that stimulate my senses and soothe my soul, I can create an exquisite setting of beauty and serenity that, for me, is the embodiment of bliss.

Reclining in a cushioned armchair upholstered in a soft, cool, silky fabric, I relax in the screened-in sunroom of a gabled cottage. The little house sits atop a sloping green hill, leading down to a blue ribbon of sparkling water that dances in the early-evening sunshine. In the distance, the meandering brook widens into a shining lake of pure, bright azure that stretches to infinity and melts into the iridescent hues of the horizon. Through the screens of the porch drifts a cool, spring breeze that gently caresses my face and plays with the gracefully waving white lace curtains.

The air is filled with a myriad of sweet fragrances from colorful blossoms that overflow the delicate porcelain vases and glass bowls--roses the color of sunshine and rubies, creamy cherry blossoms dotted with flecks of pink, cheerfully beaming daisies that seem like Mother Nature's equivalent to a baby's smile, and pale white lilacs with the soft glow of moonlight on the sea. Beside me, on a white wicker table, sits a slender, lavender vase brimming over with lilies of the valley which emit a heavenly scent that truly seems like the fragrance of the angels.

From an adjoining room, the strains of a sweetly floating melody drift through the perfumed air. A whistling robin sitting in a nearby fir tree adds his lilting harmony to the lush chords created by strings and flutes. The hours steadily glide along, yet I never give a thought to the passage of time--cell phone, email, and fax machine are far away. Between sips of amber iced tea from a tall, crystal glass, I page through my favorite book of poetry, and, with my artistic understanding heightened by the beauty around me, I find new meaning in the perfectly flowing lines.

As darkness falls and the gentle breeze gives way to stillness and silence, I light the dozen white candles that I had carefully placed around the room--on the table beside me, on the windowsills, even on the floor--and watch as the quivering shadows leap back and forth across the walls and jump into a pool of tremulous moonlight on the floor. The basins of emerald light on the sloping hills above the valley have been replaced by blankets of shimmering silver and cerulean. The robin has flown to his nest farther up in the hills, and the only sound left is that of crickets singing in the grassy fields. As the stars kiss each other goodnight in the blue-black sky above, the soft touch of fairies' wings closes my eyes, and I drift away into a dreamland even more blissful than this.


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