Monday, December 17, 2012

Weekly Creative Writing #3

I inspected my watch once more, muttering under my breath about the time.   I always got snagged into babysitting at these get-togethers.  Exasperated, I watched the children play in the leaves under the magnanimous, leafless oak tree - completely heedless of time and most especially heedless of my schedule.   They chased each other and fell into the leaves - their faces bright and animated.  I sat smugly on the log a few meters away, wishing time wouldn’t move so slowly.   Each minute seemed to stretch itself to no visible or pleasurable end... 

At last, I saw our guests leaving the old farmhouse, bidding each other goodbye.  Sighing with relief, I walked towards the children under the skeleton-like oak to corral them.   I pointed towards the house and collection of cars in the close distance.  I smiled a little - as their tiny feet resounded like a miniature gaggle of elephants as they passed me. Of course, they’d want to race each other.  

I stood under the vast oak.  They were so very happy - just running.  Running across those shimmering fields of grass that reflected the sun which set like an amber stone in the west.  I laid down on the crisp, brown leaves; staring into the sky.   The lanky limbs of the oak sketched irregular shapes into the golden, cloud-blushed sky.   Memories came flooding back.  The ones I stored away years ago, like precious jewels from the sly feet of robbers.  All those days I would come out here and stare at the sky - never worrying about what the future might hold, but basking in the glory of my childish fancies.  I remembered how the clouds used to wave at me - laughing like jolly old men as they looked down upon my small existence, but me, proud as ever, feeling superior to any other creature in the “farmworld” that engulfed my life during that time.   So small, yet remarkably immense.   I was so contained as a girl, yet more free than I had ever been.  I closed my eyes.  Thriving beneath me were the roots of the oak; a tree which all others saw as a wrinkled, blackened shell of bark.  It grew - it never stopped growing, but it looked so dead especially this time of the year.  Quite like I must look at times.  Always growing, but worn, uninterested and cynical to those who observed me. 

Finally, I heard nothing, except the gentle whispers of the swaying branches above me.   I opened my fatigued eyes again.  The amber-studded sun was being cradled by the saffron horizon - almost gone.  Oh, time had passed so quickly.. just like springtime of my childhood had evaded me unconsciously.   I vowed right then to embellish in the blessings of the moments that drew themselves out, the ones I will never recapture.  But that vow, as with time, too, will pass quickly... 

For the amazing counterpart of this themed joint writing project:

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