Relate to, laugh at or ignore my words; love or hate them; I hope you Never underestimate them.
All poetry and Articles, signed with "Sreedevi Jagannath" incidentally, belong to me, so assume this as a blanket copyright (c).
It is cold out. The sun is a little while away from setting. I trudge on.
It is something I have done many times.
It keeps me alive. What I do, what I make myself do. What I make myself see.
This habit I learned to make a thing of pleasure, something I don’t allow myself to experience very often.
The only pleasure I have known in a while.
The wind whips around my head, setting strands of night loose from their confines, the little band I tie to keep them in place. It’s a game we play when I come here. I’d like to think that the wind wants to make me feel less alone. He whispers in my ear at moments and rages in harsh tones otherwise. It’s all he know, I’d like to think.
At least he speaks to me.
There are a lot of things I’d like to think.
Grass and earth crunch softly under my booted feet, and I bend a moment to pick off a wild flower, pushing its way out from between a few rocks. I smile at its courage to prove that sometimes life can be found in places where you least expect it. A lot can be learned from these little things most people fail to see.
The sun has begun to set, and I am yet a while away from the place I need to be. I hurry along my usual path. It seems I have worn out a little walk way in the side of the hill. Things, when done long enough, can give you the most unexpected results.
I hear the slight rush and murmur of a river in the distance. The lake is only a short distance away. Water is a wonderful thing. It has more power and it carves paths where none exist. Water makes it’s own destiny. Water, water, everywhere.
I hum something tuneless as I make my way up the grassy slope. If I turn I can see my car at the foot. It has taken me nearly half hour to get this far. It’s nice to see the car fit between my thumb and forefinger, and I chuckle at my silliness.
Everything can be brought down to a manageable size if we look at it from far enough. I walk backward looking at the vehicle through my fingers till my fingers are touching. I snap those fingers and turn around and bow to an imaginary audience, softly clapping for my very own brand of practical magic.
My clapping still makes an echo and a bird screeches in the distance, chastising me for my audacity to disturb the natural order of things.
I am chastised.
Ah, finally, there. Just in time to get myself settled in. That’s precisely what I do.
I sit on the grass, ignoring the moisture seeping into my clothes. I know I will be cold by the time I get back to my car. I shrug it off, it’s nothing new. They tell me I should take better care of myself, and that this insane habit would one day kill me.
I sincerely hope that it would.
Then, in the least, I would be happy when I left. The last thing I would see before I froze to death. I am reminded of the story of the woolly mammoth fossil, whose froze over with a meal of fresh buttercups. I’m very sure the mammoth was quite content during its last moments.
I suppose if I died out here, I’d have the beautiful ending I wish for often.
I suppose if I died out here, I’d finally have the ‘ending’ part of it.
My boots come off. My feet are bare underneath. I never bother to wear socks when I am coming here. Seems like a waste of time and energy.
The grass sighs under my bare feet, and I absently play with the young blades with my toes. They tickle me in return.
I must look mad indulging in these silly things. Perhaps I am. Perhaps not. Insanity would probably lend sense to many things that I don’t understand.
I hug my knees to my chest, and rest my head on them. I like this spot. I love these few moments when I feel like the world is at my feet. It’s a wonderful feeling to have.
The sun is setting, and now the real magic starts. No matter how many times I see this, this sorcery of beauty, this enchantment of nature, my breath still catches in my throat.
Every single time.
The small city below is bathed in crimson, and the forests catch fire. It reminds me of cities burned down and lives lost. A raging river of blood chased down by a cavalry of fiery horses. And the burning continues till all is done.
Morbid, the comparison, but the colours, oh the colours!
Perhaps it is the fire of passion that heats the blood in young hearts, and the blush of a virgin lights the porcelain skin. Ah! The things that a mind can make, with a canvas of clouds.
Night quietly engulfs it all, and my passionate stories dissolve in darkness.
Inky blue velvet with diamonds
Carelessly strewn for the world to see.
Puffs of white smoke from a rich man’s cigar,
Settle quite gently amidst the navy.
I sit quietly and stare at the tiny twinkling stars, while below, city lights spring up, some yellow, some white, throwing shadows in the night.
A warm wind blows and ruffles my hair,
Telling me it’s time to go
Nothing’s left to see here
Perhaps I might return again
And gaze at another sunset,
Close my eyes, preserve the image
And have to see not ever again
Anything else, too trivial to match
The mesmerizing beauty of this last ballet
That ends in such romance, this August day
Perhaps then I shall achieve
Peace.
I’m ready now, the boots are on my feet, the car keys in my pocket, jangle in assurance that no little trick of mine would magick away the thing itself.
INTJ - "Scientist". Most self-confident and pragmatic of all the types. Decisions come very easily. A builder of systems and the applier of theoretical models. 2.1% of total population. Male - 3.3% Female - 0.8%
