Image: Abandoned Houses

I was not sure of what the future held —who could ever be? And there was the nagging paranoia that remained hovering like a cloud overhead. There was awful, terrible stillness in that brief second where you awaited the next freely falling drop of water leaving the eaves overhead only to collide on their way with some part of your transient body. I exhaled: perhaps an hour had been drenched away under the staccato of the rain pouring down upon the roof of the unstirring, weather beaten houses. To my right the unrelenting woods stood beckoning. I remember walking the same dirt roads, under the same overcast skies alongside a great friendship formed unintentionally under the conspiration of serendipity. I had known these branched beings ever damp, embraced in the brilliancy of stark emeralds and the accompanying musty aroma that was comforting to my senses in every way—be it auditory, visual or a tangible witness to the sensation of a sanctuary.
   The loudness of the falling rain drowned out any external voices and yet I could hear myself contemplate all too clearly…as if I were listening to my unvoiced thoughts  detached from the rest of my body next to me inside a cosmic bubble rather than from a millions miles apart. At moments of life like these, where one could be exposed to our most intricate bond with the elements did it feel as if I could revisit that friendship that had took place here in this place where time was warped; where the shackles of nervousness in uncertainty and the unknown were distorted. It was what we all, on a profound level, yearned to achieve: the comfort in the knowledge that our story would not remain—marred by however many imperfections— untold. As long as someone else was privy to the inner working of your mind, that as long as these jade trees listened to my secrets as I words poured like torrents out my screaming head with their humble curiosity, all was right in the world for I knew this knowledge was safe in the sanctity of their welcoming humility.

In turn, the trees stretched their gentle fingers, shaking off the troubles of a faraway land with a shrug of their dew adorned leaves; sending a fresh downpour of twinkling stars rushing to greet me standing underneath the canopy of a patchwork of olive and dazzling white and with it washing away the sadness of nostalgic longing. My giant friends stood towering over my insignificant form, dancing in the wind, softly singing a lullaby as they drifted with the breeze to the gentle notes of their melody that looked to send the darkening world to a restless sleep. The trees shared my brooding thoughts, clandestine, in the sweet song they sang which could only be heard by those straining to listen, with a distant part of the world from where I had escaped to be here; safe in being lost amidst the periodic sounds of lapping water by the unseen creek.

…And and as they swayed with the gusts, the black night was approaching, and it wasted not a breath in enveloping a lone stroller of the woods into complete disorienting darkness.

Image: Malinconia


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