Snow

A softness
floating, musical
A joyride
random, whimsical
A laugh
infectious, genuine
A kiss
soft, lingering
A white
pure, caressing
A cold
warm, soothing
A fall
poetic, beautiful
A death
impending, birthful
A birth
anew, hopeful

A gift
forever, grateful

Views from a window

As a kid I often wondered looking at a map, what it would be like if, instead of me travelling the world, the world showed itself around my neighborhood. The way I thought I would see new places was such: every day, the small piece of land which I lived on, would be the only thing that stayed fixed. The row of houses opposite mine, would move at a rate of a few kilometres per day (slow enough to give me time to soak it in, and quick enough to overcome boredom / stagnation). I would see new villages come into view, and I would talk to the new people, make friends, invite them over, and sample their lifestyles, all till the next morning brought along something new. Theoretically, the map told me what came next; but somehow in my ‘childish’ mind, it meant little. For me, it was a romantic idea, one which would bring something new, even if I knew what it was going to be. At the leisurely pace of a few kilometres per day, my house would become a beach villa or a mountain hut for a few months, or anything else really that was imaginable.

Now that I am ‘grown up’, I hear that no such window exists, none through which we see the world changing. Or does it? In a lot of ways, it still does. Landscapes vary constantly, seasons cycle around, people and things around us change – arriving, departing, some staying with us, others just passing by. Life seems like a ride on a giant yo-yo swinging along the face of Earth.
Yesterday, like kids getting drenched in a rain shower, we bathed in snowfall. The world was a beautiful place, and it was right at our doorstep. We were in a park which may not have normally garnered any attention, but it was the eighth wonder of the world for those three hours. Today we heard the snow drip onto the forest floor and saw the good ol’ local woodpecker, upside down on a branch, hammering away. Stimulating discussions about birds and beaks, ideas and thoughts for new paintings and poems, lots of laughter and good company.

I see so many people travelling now, and I wish that sometimes, instead of zipping around the world in said ‘low cost / budget flights (sic)’, we could sit in our magical balconies and experience it around us.

Tomorrow the view outside the window will change again.