She was happy. She did not know whether it was the view of
the mountains or the rocks that beckoned her. She was also mesmerised by the
sea that kept trying to lick her feet. She thought it was the best pet she
could wish for. It was constant; it had a promise of being there. Changing its
moods but never changing in its inherent nature of just coming back to get more
of you.
What surprised her most was the fact that she was happy. She
still had those lingering doubts and tensions in the back of her mind, but
nature had taken those and shoved them far up their behinds. She was one with
the sky that she gazed at. The vulture that circled the sky was flying just beside
her. Yes she was flying; flying with all her might. And she did not even have
to close her eyes for it.
The vacation had done wonders for her psyche. All the muck
that she had carried around with her seemed to have washed away with the sand
that the sea kept eating up. The rocks she sat on to caress the sea seemed like
home. She wondered why people ever loved going to malls and concrete buildings.
This is where poems are made. This is where prose is built. The foundations of
all creations can be found amongst the flawed and perfect things around her at
that moment.
The place reminded her of who she was. She could think of
poetry again. She remembered who she stood for and what her life meant to her.
It reinforced the urgency of love in her; the importance of loved ones and the
creativity that lingered in her senses all the time.
She was at home. She was going to be back for sure.
