She climbs on to the brown parapet of the terrace. She could not sleep. Today, she feels like an owl. She has become a nocturnal creature. She looks up at the sky. She sees how the violet dominates the grey, yet there are traces of black. The horizon is clear and preparing for a new start. A sudden chill greets her and flits away. She realizes that it had rained the last night. She waits for it to rain again. She knows it won’t. This happens every time at this time of the year. It seems to be the last rain of the year. She knows it is not. The clouds seem to be dreading the upcoming venture. They are fading away yet they are firm in their standing.
She can see a few stars twinkling. They are waiting for the sun. She searches for the moon. She cannot find it.
She looks around. She can see clusters of green and the isolated trees. They impress upon her the annals of the once existing forest. Now, there is a town, which has very comfortably uprooted the trees. She looks down at the street below. She cannot believe that it can be this empty. She waits for cars and pedestrians to appear magically out of thin air. She waits for the imaginary traffic to move. It does not happen. She removes her gaze to the faint outline of the surrounding mountains. The peaks covered with snow but the slopes look brown. She cannot help but compare them to a chocolate cake with a frost icing. Suddenly, the clouds become intense. She can no longer see the peaks. They become darker. She waits for it to pour. She waits for the heaven to cry. It does but they come down in light drops. She can feel them on her. She is not soaked to skin. It is drizzling, she realizes. She waits for the clouds to start crying like a forlorn banshee. She wants to feel the same sorrow and the same happiness. They seem to be happy, she muses when the drizzle stops. They cannot imbibe the joy in her.
She closes her eyes to let the moment seep in. She wants to preserve the welcome of the cold breeze. She wants to remember that the streets really are broad and can be empty. She wants to conserve the picture of the dusk – the horizon, the sky, the stars, the clouds and the mountains. She wants it all yet she has nothing.
Memories. Joys. Anticipations. Desire. Oblivion. Realizations. Sorrows. Life.
She opens her eyes. She is suddenly dazzled by a sharp white light. The sun has come up. The sky still has the purple hue but now the white rules. It seems like the shell is opening to reveal a pearl, she muses. The grey has faded away and the black has stayed.
She can hear the horn of a car in the next street. She can see a lady on the road. The town is waking up.
She jumps down on the terrace and puts on her hood. She knows it is not unusual because it is yet another day.