The Willow

Nestled away in serenity
lies a lake of ripples —
paying heed to the whims
of the gentle wind.
Devoid of sunshine
and of warmth —
the lake snugly fits
in the gloom of the evening.

A silhouette of trees
encircle the lake —
with reflections
as accompaniment.
The wavy surface
gave rise to aquatic life
that spreads across
the entirety of the lake.

This gloomy evening
witnessed showers
that drenched
the surface of all in its way.
So beautiful a sight
never was seen
in a city
of bright lights and sounds.

Somewhere in the vicinity
the lake became
all that it could
with none to notice.
It filled up in it’s own way,
the beauty
the tranquil —
it became.

Overseeing the lake
stood a cottage similar
to the ones sketched
on paper in younger days.
The scene looked to be
meticulously picked from
the archives of childhood —
the petulance of imagination.

Nature painted
an identical picture
breathing life into that
innocent drawing —
That was scribbled
at endlessly by
tiny hands that didn’t know
what they were doing.

With stokes from
the palette of
nature’s finest —
olive green,
a splash of azure
and a grim shade of grey
something that crayons
could never replicate.

The trace of footprints left behind
gradually grew in size
leading to this one moment
right here.
One tiny little moment
one simple little glance
of a sight so simple,
yet so so beautiful.

A gloomy July
evening with
residual raindrops
and a drizzle of hope —
a light breeze
as accompaniment
to frame the picture
so perfectly.

Freedom exists
in these
moments of beauty —
in these
moments of hope —
in these
moments
of sheer magnificence.

To look at a sight
so pure
and soak in every pixel
of absolute wonder —
was to live right then
right there —
in that
one little moment.

Through the years
time transcends —
the footprints
left behind
leave an
indelible mark
on the
sands of time.

Someday you will see
how far
your tiny little feet
have taken you.
And come to realize
how many more
such pictures there
are for you to grow into.

A million
there might be
all lined up,
coherently —
to sum up
the album
that you
will archive.

That you will come to call
life as you knew it —
picture postcards of memories
so deep to recall upon
when the life around you
ceases to instill inspiration
creativity or
the very cause of existence.

The timing has to be perfect —
the season just right —
for you to be able to
step into each photo frame.
Or perhaps your feet
must be of the right size
for you to be able
to keep up with
the growth spurt that
your footprints left behind.

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