Waiting

Reads: 59  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A 2016-2017 essay about finding one's own Querencia. Mine was about being at peace within my home country and how nature had become such a huge part in finding that peace.

Submitted: April 03, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 03, 2017

A A A

A A A


Waiting

Shhhh… If you listen closely, you can hear it. The deep rumble far away, like people whispering but their conversation gets louder and louder and then close enough for you to understand what they were talking about. Soon, the lightning joins the song of thunder and dances along, weaving and striking the Earth in flashes. I wait. Here, 9000 miles away from California, I am home for the first time in years. For the first time in years, I sit on the front porch and wait.

 

What am I waiting for on the porch? The tiled porch that has scars from being alive for so long, that had slippers scattered all over it as if there was a rush of people that forgot about footwear? I lean back into the chair that whines and creaks, old and tired. The forest nearby is quiet, the emerald green strikingly bright against the dull sky. There is not a single animal that makes a sound, as if they were waiting with me, prepared and weary. I was not worried though. Instead, my heart beats quickly, impatient and I stay still. I breath in and the air is crisp, carrying a familiar scent I have grown to love. It’s here.

 

The rain is quick and falls in a rhythm that I move with. It’s a symphony when the rain clashes against the paved dirt roads and taps against the leaves. The flowers welcome the sight with open arms and drink up the water after yearning for it for so long. The porch stays safe from pouring rain and so do I. Safe from the wilderness and safe from negative thoughts. The river nearby is loud as it thrashes against the riverbed, a revolution in its waves, a voice yelling at the world yet it couldn’t be heard unless the world wanted to listen. It is cold out here but it is refreshing, away from the usual humidity that rules over like a dictator. Though I shiver and goose bumps cover my skin, I do not go back inside. I glance up to see the enormous black clouds looming by like a moody teenager. There is no one here but me, in a world of my own.

 

The rain leaves as quickly as it came like the family member that only comes over to your house for the food. Immediately, the lightning ends the dance with a flourish and the curtains close. The thunder’s tune fades into the distance like a murmuring crowd that leaves after a party. Suddenly, the forest bursts with life. The dogs bark again and the cows graze the grass cautiously. The white spotted woodpeckers play the trees as if it were drums and the cicadas screech becomes the orchestra. They’re a terrible orchestra, just screaming the tune, but it’s their best track and it’s the only album that is free. The bright petals colored like the fiery sun or dark somber purples lean to one side heavy with dew drops. The once roaring river quiets down as if the revolution failed and there was nothing to do but give up.

 

Yawning, I get up and stretch like a cat after doing absolutely nothing at all. Yet I feel older, watching nature go on without mankind having to do a single thing. I feel at peace, a feeling that I hadn’t felt for so long. This is a small part of India that I call my home, that I can find myself after troubles and breathe again. The rain left puddles and it cleaned the dark spots in my glass heart. It was gone for now, but it will be back again another day and I will sit here and wait on my porch once again.

_________________________________________


© Copyright 2017 GauriDS. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by GauriDS

Waiting

Essay / Non-Fiction