The lake has turned dark now. As if the receding sun has kindled its inner darkness, encouraged it to come out, express itself, without fear or care or shame. The darkness is now animated by its own will, it has a life of its own, its own volition, energy….it spreads from the one focal point where it was born, it ascends up the hill, it spreads over the water. It has now captured the sky in the west. The light recedes, the sky turns from blue to indigo to dark….as if god poured a bucket of ink into the ocean of the sky and it has coloured the light blue waters of the heavens….and the colour is never-ending, it spreads from east to west, gobbling up the sky, chasing the light away from the firmament…a metaphor for what happens in the world of humans…..darkness often wins over light, and what should not be takes the place of what should be……
To help the indigo that has now contaminated the land, the water as well as the sky, the mist rises too, rises from the depths of the waters of the lake which is dark now, dark and silent. It rises from the depths of the waters, and ascends up, through the air, into the space between the mountains, covering the landscape, seeping through the mountainside, enveloping the trees, and the shrub, and the vines, and the flowers, and the leaves, and the deadwood alike. It makes no distinction between the green and the red, and the living and the dead, the useful and the useless. It envelops one and all in its cold and ethereal embrace. The darkness is luminescent now with the mist mingling with the colours of the night.
The stars have deserted the sky too. They have been invaded, covered, overpowered by the clouds; dark clouds which converge now, and cover the skies with a pall of black which is darker than the darkness which preceeded it.
But all is not lost. The darkness is not complete, it can never be….for light is never too far off, it is suppressed, hidden, weakened temporarily, but it is resilient, it will come back……
The mountain opens up its eyes slowly, one by one, there are thousands of pin-points of light which illuminate the sides of the hills, fighting the darkness, not giving up. The mountain looks like a beast of the night, which is just about awakening now, and opening up its eyes to look around. The clouds descend, the darkness descends, yet the small pools of light fight for survival. They twinkle from a distance, like the stars from on high…..
The country side is quiet now, quiet and dark and cold. The hill watches quietly, a million eyes have opened up in its body now. It watches as I sit on the balcony of the house with the green top. I am cold, and yet I will not go to the safety of the house, I wait for the song….the song of the hills….I have been waiting for a long time for this….
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Such a vivid writing….
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