An ethereal cacophony of sounds permeated the serene atmosphere of the cold night.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts and consequently, failed to notice the evidence of life milling about around me. I came to suddenly to realize that there was a melody…somewhat, in the seemingly unintelligible sounds, after all.
The night was so dark and starless that I could barely see the twig swinging in front of me, barely attached to its mother. I watched it keenly as it struggled to swing in the still air.
Smiling ruefully, I discovered for the first time that nature is really beautiful after the unnerving hustle and bustle of everyday life and its accompanying headaches answer the utmost call; bows and leaves the stage for the cool mind-blowing calmness of the typical windy night.
Time passes across a message every night. It talks in a low tone. Sometimes, its silence is overly satisfying…exhilarating even. At other times, it gloats and asserts its dominance over the nocturnal creatures in particular and nature in general.
Feelings run riot, personality melts into nothingness. Riches, fame, position, lofty dreams lost their significance in seconds. They don’t matter. The rich and poor alike become one when light fades. Darkness permeates the atmosphere. There is no turning back. The tunnel draws them in…all of them. It sucks them up and becomes engorged with their mismatched; repulsive forms.
No place to hide. It closes in stealthily, a majestic panther on the prowl. It stalks…smooth turns, measured steps…doggedness. It closes in and the ray is shut out, for now. It sucks it up.
The twig swings on, unconcerned, content in its little aloof world, a microcosm of the larger nature. I, its unknown spectator watch it as it preens in the wind, a conspicuous contrast to its unyielding mother. Ram-rod straight, the mother defies the wind; unbending in its magnificence, a stranger to its offsprings who cackle as they swing in obeisance to the rhythm of nature.
She calls them, softly at first.
Then louder now.
She appeals to them, her heart on her sleeves. They look at one another and the cackles escalated into full scale laughter, a derisive mirth and then, throaty guffaws.
The mother withdraws into her shell throbbing in pain at the hurt. She is silent. Expectedly, the silence makes the incident, especially poignant.
The twigs’ aloofness does not surprise me – its sole spectator. That is their own way of coping. Feelings jealously guarded ; locked deep inside…down…down where prying eyes do not wander.
The mother’s hurt surprises me. She ought to know better. Feelings exposed to the world is in dire need of redemption. Danger lurks in dark corners, baring fangs in anticipation. No respite from the inevitable. It lunges, no restrictions as the skeletal one had broken down at the glimpse of her emotions. She succumbs to it, it’s all over.
The second coming of the mother would be a parody of the phoenix’s – a novel life rising out of the ashes of the old.
A new beginning.
Ignorance had died with the ashes. The mother now rises in her splendour, as a new evergreen tree sprouting in the corner. Former hurts forgotten. Fortified now to live like the others. The only life they understand. Feelings and emotions securely locked away in the forgotten dungeon of time. Never to be seen anymore.
And now,the mother cackles as she stretches luxuriantly in the wind.
In charge of her world.