She likes the rush of the wind and its sound. She would like to go a little higher. She exerts her might and the sand underneath the swing is embossed with what seem vertical lines of the size of her feet. And as she drags her feet back on the ground in the hope that the plank of wood on which she is sitting would move just a little faster and fly a little higher. She’s disappointed when that does not happen. The swing moves a bit faster than before but stops quicker than before. She does not like that she has to put an effort again. She wants her saffron scarf to flutter as the wind caresses. She’d like it to be seen as a lost blush and a blur from the heaven above. It does not happen.
The breeze is blowing more beautifully. She can hear the pretty song it sings. She would like the hinges of the swing to croak along with singing whoosh of the wind. She would like to sing of the imbalance – in life, in nature and in herself. Instead she hears the harmony in the wind and the disappointment in herself. They are together but not in each other.
The thought slows her down. She leaves herself to ponder. Her feet hang in the air – her goal long forgotten. The scarf around her shoulder is struggling to fly. She does not realise that she is only cradling herself. She thinks about herself and about others. She forgets of herself and of the wind.
She allows a disappointment to settle down as a chill engulfs her heart. Suddenly she requires warmth. She gathers the scarf around her like a shroud and then she suddenly feels it. It is like the wind is cradling her in its arms. She can feel it blowing in her face. She feels her lifted higher up. And the scarf’s blowing and it’s her arms which are being caressed by the wind and the gossamer.
And then she smiles a little. She grins the wide length. And she is swung a little higher once again. The breeze is smirking and is smug. She laughs at her idiocy. She chuckles at her fancy.
When she was young she used to think if she swung to highest point she would touch the blue heaven above. Illusions were gone but fancies had remained. Disappointment faded away and contentment settled in. The scarf fluttered a little and a lot in the zephyr – saffron thread and not a blush.
She had a cried a little and laughed a lot. She wanted the moment to last. The wind, however, becomes a little sad, it stops singing. It might blow a dirge her way some time later but for now the swing slows down and her feet touch the ground. She does not persist on her flight but accepts the dormancy.
May be next time, she would be happy and tease the wind a little like it had teased her today. May be she’d fly when it wanted to blow. For now, she walked into the setting sun – the scarf hanging loose around her slender neck. The sky was a hue of blush and blur.
A/N – Another fleeting moment, I think it could be expressed better but this was original and I was too lazy. 😉