By Roopa Swamy
It just appeared on the peaks of the hills
Shy and hesitant.
Tender dustings on the pine trees.
White. Radiant. Graceful.
Angelic. Magical. Elegant.
A trance?
Shyly and gently caressing the delicate snow
The sun wondered…
Such calmness and silence
How do I rise and melt away the exquisiteness?
While the sun wondered…
Voices drifted
Whirring of machines.
The chirruping of birds.
Broke through the morning
Alas! Soon it was cacophony.
What would the day be like?
The Sun cracked through the clouds,
Sending a million rays to swathe the earth.
It played hide and seek
As the clouds wrapped the snow
Precious, peaceful and pretty.
Steadfast and serene, the whiteness withstood
Every gale and storm.
Patterns of reverie,
Timelessness and tranquility
Time stood still — waiting.
Did time really stand still?
The Sun rose. The clouds floated on.
The day wore on, voices jarred.
A mind wandered in the realm of belief
Belief in the beating heart, in another sunrise.
The night in the mountains is beguiling
Warm homes, friends, family.
Flickering lights through obscured tavern windows
Laughter and chatter.
Some solitary, some dyads, some groups
Believing you are meant for another day.
As a wanderlust, I’m sans place, time or people for too long
But I’ll always remember:
I meet. I greet. I move on.
Too much wondrousness, no stops — just a halt.
I Believe.