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The Walk in the Meadow

September 28, 2018 | By

Ronin recounts the melancholic walk he took in a meadow, experiencing the sounds, silence and magnificence of nature, responding to its beckoning.

creative literary musings

I’m walking in an endless meadow. It’s touching the zenith’s height somewhere in the distant horizon. A cold breeze is sweeping the fresh, knee-high grass around me that is waving at me gently. I can smell the fragrance of jasmine, but can’t see the flowers or the trees anywhere; it’s only me and the long, dense grass, as far as my eyes can see. The smell of jasmine is faint, but it’s there nevertheless.

There are butterflies fluttering in unison everywhere. They are in every single color this universe has got, even in the ones that are hidden from the human eye. The sky is a yellowish blue, or bluish yellow, I don’t know. It might be sunset or the sunrise. I can see the indistinct impressions of stars; they are twinkling once in a while, about to get lost under the blanket of auroras, not very different from the southern lights, that has engulfed the sky as far as my eyes can see. The cold wind is fondling my hair and kissing my face, but it’s too gentle, not chilled and harsh at all. Almost as if a long lost lover is desperately trying to find her way back and hug me. I can feel it. I can hear the crickets chirping; it must be evening then. But is it? Who says crickets don’t chirp at the breaking of the dawn? Well, I don’t want to think about anything, not right now. I ward away the thoughts and look ahead.

As the clouds are dispersing, I notice that it’s a city established on an unfathomable mountain!

I can see a gigantic mountain emerging from the edge of the meadow now through a white and grey cluster of clouds. Wait, it’s not just a big mountain. As the clouds are dispersing, I notice that it’s a city established on an unfathomable mountain! I can see the monastery-like houses, dangling from the edges of the rocks. I can see fountains and the cattle and the shops selling ironwork. Why, is that an ancient-looking library? My heartbeat is picking up the pace.

As I tread nearer, the mountain appears to be bigger than I had thought. Is this my destination? Is this the place I was looking for all my life? Is this the same mountain I used to see in my dreams since childhood? I am unable to think rationally anymore. My feet are just taking me there, not needing my consent anymore. Then I see them! There are people on the mountain, appearing like tiny specks of dust, but I can see them clearly, clad in brown and black and grey colored robes that are probably made of jute or some hand-woven fabric. They’re waving at me.

No, they are calling me… They are calling me to join them. They are calling me to hurry up. I don’t know them, but I’ve never felt this elated for as long as I can remember. There is some kind of music in the air but I can’t hear any instrument. Nevertheless, I fasten my pace.

I look at one of them; an elderly wizard-looking man with a hooded robe, smiling gently at me, waving his hand. He has got heavy brows covered in thick, white hair, almost hiding his gleaming, mystical eyes. He’s saying something from beneath his dense, glorious white beard. I can hear it clearly even at such a distance. I don’t know how but I can hear him. “Come to us,” he is saying, “Come to Moon Men, Star Boy.”

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Learning and Creativity publishes articles, stories, poems, reviews, and other literary works, artworks, photographs and other publishable material contributed by writers, artists and photographers as a friendly gesture. The opinions shared by the writers, artists and photographers are their personal opinion and does not reflect the opinion of Learning and Creativity emagazine. Images used in the posts (not including those from Learning and Creativity's own photo archives) have been procured from the contributors themselves, public forums, social networking sites, publicity releases, Morguefile free photo archives and Creative Commons. Please inform us if any of the images used here are copyrighted, we will pull those images down.

A writer, poet, graphic designer, harmonica player, Ronin is an artist who loves to do whatever he does. He likes fiction and fantasy genre and is a huge fan of Van Gogh, comic book legend Stan Lee, Munshi Premchand, and J.K Rowling to name few. Ronin also loves listening to old rock songs; Pink Floyd is his all time favorite. Ronin also goes by the name of Shubhang Saurav in the mortal world, which is his birth as well as socially accepted name.
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