MJ

I’m living in a mist storm.  Occasionally rain punctuates it, pounds down on my tin roof with a savageness that is exciting, primal.  At those times, drops of water leak through the roof, and I take refuge under my soft woolen blanket, hiding my head and blanking out all thoughts.  It’s a time to become very meditative, very still, and it happens naturally, a consequence of all the other-worldly noise.  My mind goes completely silent as the monsoon ravages the roof.

Usually though, it’s just mist.  Mist that you inhale, mist that makes your skin shiny, mist that ensures your clothes are never truly dry, mist that hides the trees from the garden, mist that moves up the mountains like a shifting band of ghosts.  The mist is unreal, it has a life of its own, a chameleon shape that turns the green hills and valleys into a game of hide and go seek.  Now you see it, now you don’t.  One moment the path is clear, the next it has disappeared.



More by this Author

  • Beware The Indian Auntie
    27

    The Indian Auntie is a fearsome creature. She is usually married, with a dot of red paste on her forehead to prove it. She is generally overweight, her sides seeping out over her colorful sari, her neck bulging with...


Comments

No comments yet.

    Sign in or sign up and post using a HubPages Network account.

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No HTML is allowed in comments, but URLs will be hyperlinked. Comments are not for promoting your articles or other sites.


    Click to Rate This Article
    working