writing

A Saturday in June

A yellow haze rolls through the air, a ray of light for every shadow of the land. The clouds refuse to part, and when the rain comes it does so without warning. However it is gentle, melodic as it knocks on the window, coaxing me to look outside. Beyond the window I see the colors seeping onto the earth, a painting being created in real time. The sun teases in the background, the clouds tearing from a lack of commitment. I cannot blame them—I would love to see the beauty in its complete form. There is nothing to hide.

 
The rain drops offer themselves as a sacrifice to the thirsty earth. They leap from above, embracing the road with its remains in a beautiful death. The clouds are unaware of the death of their children, perhaps used to empty nest on days when the sun thrives the most. My eyes relax and my thoughts wander, listening to the harmony of suicidal raindrops and rolling thunder. Cars follow through as if nothing is beautiful, but I like to think the soul behind the wheel appreciates it from a new perspective. Now there is silence, now there is no more death.
The birds take their turn as they call to each other. At times I wonder what it means, their calls, or are they cries? What do they ask after the rain? Do they ask what I am afraid to, that what could be more beautiful? Are they searching for friends caught in the downfall? How do raindrops feel on the body of a bird? I relish from the downpour, nothing more than a massage of nature, but does it hurt them? What could be more beautiful than this? It scares me to think. Could I comprehend something greater than this?
Now come the fires arising from the ashes of a fallen sun. The yellows and the reds bleed together to form a river in the sky, the clouds a beachhead as the night begins. Far off a gaggle of geese swim along the river, dots fading into the darkness. The haze has gone, and everything reverts back to the usual spectrum. The plains are green, the road a worn gray, the clouds a paler shade of blue. And my room returns to black, save from the light seeping in from the dying flame of the day. I continue to stare.
Finally night has arrived, and the earth hushes to sleep. I have lived thousands of days and have even more before me, if nature allows me so. Within these days I am sure one must have been like this, and I had the same thoughts as well. But this moment happened in June, on a Saturday that was born this morning but died before my eyes. On June 15th, 2013 I witnessed the life and death of a day, and tomorrow I shall watch its brother die the same death. I will remember them as I always do, by forgetting.
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