Bis Bald

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I’m leaving. I’m sure I’ll be back again one day but I try to take in as much as I can cram in my meagre memory. The vast endless acres of green. As far as the eyes can see. The calm sea, blue water reflecting the sky. Do you now that the ocean is actually blue because its a mirror to the sky above it?

The glorious golden Autumn. Leaves falling off its branches. Slowly, gently, settling on the grass below them. The sun shining high above, creating jewel-like sparkles on the sea. They are more beautiful than any diamonds, any gems I’ve ever seen.

And I think of home.

Thank God, humans cannot mine these beautiful sparkles.

The ocean would have dulled.

Maybe not in this part of this world but back home.

It has lost its shine.

That place I call home.

Forest grazed, levelled to the ground. And for what?

To be trapped in a little square metal box, gazing out through the glass, at concrete jungle greyer than the gloomiest rainy sky in this part of this world. Wait, I’m being unfair. Even the bleakest rainy day is beautiful in this part of the world. Nothing like the concrete mass I’m going back to.

I blow out a long sigh. Even sighing has a different feel.

Fresh air, crisp wind, the most fragrant smell my olfactory sense has ever tasted.

As I wave the trees, the ocean, the fallen leaves, the wonderful little towns goodbye, I said to myself, “You have to come back.”

And I will.

 

Author Details
Born to teach and write is probably a way to sum up this writer lady. She enjoys long walks, short jogs and occasional sprints. A little addicted to pilates and yoga but not so much that she can twist and bend in all directions. Highly addicted to reading, which is what transpires her to write. She’s currently escaping to the marvellous fictional wonderland.
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Aggy Lou
Born to teach and write is probably a way to sum up this writer lady. She enjoys long walks, short jogs and occasional sprints. A little addicted to pilates and yoga but not so much that she can twist and bend in all directions. Highly addicted to reading, which is what transpires her to write. She’s currently escaping to the marvellous fictional wonderland.
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