A Nocturnal Revelation

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night but quite the opposite actually. This night seemed different from all other nights that this pair of eyes has ever seen. The clouds on the sky were a few in numbers, and were frolicking unabashedly with the moon. This spectacle was heightened with the rustling of leaves in a measured cadence, when the wind blew past gently. The murmur of the leaves was the only occasion that somehow betrayed the otherwise revelry of the night.

The silent playfulness of this night formed an unusual sighting- it seemed to be a fitting prelude for something ominous on the way. Something that could devastate the mysterious way of this night. Perhaps a storm is brewing somewhere nearby, which is about to spillover at this silent, mysterious night. Then the night, I fear would never be the same. Once the whirlwind that waits on the verge is unleashed, this night would be unlike any other night. So very different. So very more mysterious. And with the change in the spectacle, I fear a spectre could transpire.

I remained there stranded, waiting.

~~~***~~~

Recollecting Memories

Life is a mixture of everything. And it is not possible to recollect everything at a time. Something or the other we will always miss. That’s why memories are always so special. It keeps popping up when we least expect it but eludes us when we try to cup it. This is what I exactly feel whenever I read my musings.

Entrapped memories become a cascade when I spill them over the pages of my diary. The rhapsody it creates is the cadence of my soul. It is the symphony that only I can understand at times.

Each thing I write is nothing but a collection of some memories which in turn creates some new memories. What is life without memories? It holds us back and at the same time makes us move ahead.It is there with us always. Sometimes it is the tear drop and sometimes it is in the smile and at times it is nothing but in the blank pages.

The tear drop that someone did not let go waste and the one that died anonymously are tributes to memories.

The flicker of smile, the subdued shine in the eyes, the fluttering of soul, and the throbbing of life conjure up memories.

My memories are like the innumerable pebbles lying on the shore of my life. Like a little girl, barefooted I walk around and collect them in the spread of my frock. I name each of the pebble I collect. Some becomes poem, some becomes scribbles and stories, some becomes paintings and some remains unnamed.

The basket that I call “White Window”, today, has got its golden pebble in it. And I named this pebble “Recollecting Memories”. Hope this basket will be divine enough to accommodate infinite numbers of eternal pebbles in it.

On this occasion of my 50th post I would like to express a token of gratitude to all of you who have been so special in this journey of my “White Window” with me.

~~~***~~~

Pixie Dust: 55 Fiction

Missing you was equal to missing the very essence of life. I searched for something inside the wooden chest. A tag was there with the inscribed words “Hope this Christmas gift spreads pixie-dusts over you”.

Pixie came running to me and we both ushered in the New Year together.

I missed you no more.

~~~***~~~

Wish you all a very Happy New Year. :)

What is 55 Fiction? It is a fiction story, with all the basic elements of a narrative (plot, characters, setting, conflict), in 55 words or less(A non-negotiable rule).