I sit here, alone and silent, in the dark, and I drift. I drift to a place between consciousness and unconsciousness. A place... a sort of magical place, where I can hear the moon beams, dancing, on the window panes. Its like..... like the sound of tiny feet shuffling, moving to and fro, keeping perfect rhythm with the bull frog, in the not so distant pond, as he croaks out a love song for his mate to be. The wind, it gusts, it comes whistling through the open screen, with just enough force to move the shears, making them to twirl and dance like a new bride on the happiest day of her life. The air, although damp, it is full of the distinct sounds and smells of summer, trees in blossom, flowers in bloom and fresh cut grass. All carried by the wind as though she had packed them in a basket as she strolled through a warm sunny meadow earlier in the day. What a perfect ending to a wonderful evening. Then all becomes silent. Where did it go? Did I drift off to a deeper sleep, or did someone steal the moment. I hear Nothing!!..... Nothing but the deafening sound of nothing. No wind. No dancing bride. No croaking serenade. Even the shuffling of the tiny feet have stopped. Oh.... how loud silence can be! I had, for a moment forgotten... But..... now I can hear it, and the longer it goes the louder it gets. The ringing, the humming, the buzzing. I was about to ask myself, will it ever stop? When suddenly there was a flash, like someone took a photo, and all four sides of the flash bulb went off at once. It was followed by a loud K-Boom and droplets of water began to fall. It came down hard and steady at first, and the droplets bounced off the widow where, only minutes earlier, the moon beams were playfully dancing to the bull frogs love tune. Now, Prince Charming, whether successful or not, had decided to take cover and wait out the storm. The wind was back, but this time, it carried a tiny mist of water into the room. The bride, she, is no longer dancing to the same tune. No the shears are not happy. They are done and will stay away from the edges of the window where they will be dry to dance another day. Now as the mist blows in I too can feel the dampness and, I realize that I like the bull frog and the shears need to call it a day.
Posted on: Mon, 30 Jun 2014 08:13:25 +0000
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