There is something about these evenings. When I’m out and near the trees, there is a smell of winter in the air. When I walk too fast and feel warm, but there is no sweat. Maybe it’s that warmth that it is all about. But maybe there is more to it.
It’s like the memories of junior school, when a good part of the year had these evenings. When we would play out in the fields. And those one, one-and-half hours of play would be the soul of our existence.
It’s beautiful how smells can take you back to memories stored in packets lost somewhere in time. It’s beautiful how the warmth can make you feel the ease that once was. As kids then, we actually cared less about tomorrow. It was all about the now. And it is all about the now, today.
There are very few times when one can really say and feel that.
And in these evenings, to sit in a vehicle that does more than take me to my destination, there is that breeze that reassures me that after long summers, winter is coming.
It’s like a long familiar face from seemingly far away days you just happen to meet. Pure coincidence. But then again my rational mind speaks in authority, ‘there are no coincidences.’ My rationale refuses to come to terms with the inanimate objects of faith, belief and a feeling of home.
And to come back to the flat, my friend in white fur follows me to the door. I sit down and caress his head. And when I’m about to leave, he brings his head near my hands. Oh he wants more.
These evenings, I love them. There isn’t much more to ask for after such satisfactions. But even the human heart, forever discontent, doesn’t settle. There is hence, just a small longing…
These could have gone into line by line of rhymes or free verse. But no, this is my poetry. And you can always ‘fall in love with the sound of words…’