The chilling, stormy wind was keen on sucking the life out of every single matter that had the audacity to be blissful. Air had been enshrouded in miles of snow on the earth bed. Suspiring was a task next to impossible. Felicity fell like late leaves from the trees of life. Lugubriousness reigned unchallenged. Even the exanimate artifacts were not unaffected by the gloomy atmosphere.
Not a sole soul was to be seen on the streets of Magden but there was an entity, on the verge of inanimation, sitting on a solitary bench under a choking tree. He was dreamily staring at the white sky banded with patches of grey clouds, unaware of the stillness of his surroundings. One could tell at a close inspection of his attire that he had been a well-to-do at some point in his life, environed by friends dearer than life. But one could only guess for the sake of life, the would-have-been reason; for this solitary, grim and tragic way of life in similitude with the vicious winter. As sometimes talked over by some of the narcissistic folks, who had once formed one-third of his innermost circle of pals and who now resided in colonial mansions; paid no attention to their dying friend but were glad to mull- over his past and surmise his future. They also happened to know his heartily emotions and what he was desperately looking at the sky for.
Sirius Buendia, currently staring at the sky with hopeful eyes for a sign of something happy, something as commoving as the spring; to fall out of heaven, straight into his lap. He had umpteen things to look forward to, just a year ago. He had the most important article a being needed for living, a great friend, Florentino Sandy. They were never seen to be apart and same followed for their tastes. Buendia had limited himself to that one friend only since the winter last year. Although almost every other friend of him knew what he was upto but had never been chanced for conversation with him.
The vicissity of the weather was same as today, the streets were equally deserted, the air was as suffocating as ever; the falling leaves were paler than a jaundiced child, surface of the land felt harder than a steel plate riveted on an iron bed; but there was one, and only one striking deviation; two of the closest friends of the town were sitting on the bench, discussing merrily about their plans for the upcoming spring. They were excitedly talking when a sudden wave of emotion surged over Sandy, forcing him to clutch his heart as if to stop it from palpitating. Then there was a sudden glow of light, a yellow streak falling straight on Sandy's head, blinding Buendia sitting beside him. He couldn't see anything for a minute and when at last the wave departed; he was numbed, losing his senses and unaware, slid down the bench on the cold ice. But his heart went ever colder than the freezing snow under him that he could feel warmth of the place. Sandy lay on the bench, flat; eyes wide open, a hand on his heart with no sign of life.
The days went by, horizons washed away their white paint; grounds were green again, streets were crowded once more, birds chirped overhead, pleasant scent of flowers gorged the atmosphere but he was still as stiff as on the day of Sandy's last. Sat there unaffected. He was waiting for the spring that descends in the dead of winter. The spring that brings back the lost. The spring that dwells in the chilling core of December. He had a hope that he would get to meet his friend this winter; in the beautiful heavens. That would be the best spring of the wounded soul, and may be, of the life after death. He had a belief that spring meant happiness and nevertheless the bliss around him, he couldn't be happy alone! He needed his best companion right beside him, to feel the pleasure that nature offered. The materialistic spring, to him, amounted to shucks; he was the merchant of the ornaments that adorned the soul. Hearts of those narcissists couldn't afford to feel the joy of meeting a long lost friend, which lay far beyond the merriment the weather of sunshine brings. That was it, the spring dwells in the heart, not in the milieu.
Whoa!
The sky was glowing yellow, once again; brighter than ever, rays falling right under the withered tree. My spring was blessed......
Not a sole soul was to be seen on the streets of Magden but there was an entity, on the verge of inanimation, sitting on a solitary bench under a choking tree. He was dreamily staring at the white sky banded with patches of grey clouds, unaware of the stillness of his surroundings. One could tell at a close inspection of his attire that he had been a well-to-do at some point in his life, environed by friends dearer than life. But one could only guess for the sake of life, the would-have-been reason; for this solitary, grim and tragic way of life in similitude with the vicious winter. As sometimes talked over by some of the narcissistic folks, who had once formed one-third of his innermost circle of pals and who now resided in colonial mansions; paid no attention to their dying friend but were glad to mull- over his past and surmise his future. They also happened to know his heartily emotions and what he was desperately looking at the sky for.
Sirius Buendia, currently staring at the sky with hopeful eyes for a sign of something happy, something as commoving as the spring; to fall out of heaven, straight into his lap. He had umpteen things to look forward to, just a year ago. He had the most important article a being needed for living, a great friend, Florentino Sandy. They were never seen to be apart and same followed for their tastes. Buendia had limited himself to that one friend only since the winter last year. Although almost every other friend of him knew what he was upto but had never been chanced for conversation with him.
The vicissity of the weather was same as today, the streets were equally deserted, the air was as suffocating as ever; the falling leaves were paler than a jaundiced child, surface of the land felt harder than a steel plate riveted on an iron bed; but there was one, and only one striking deviation; two of the closest friends of the town were sitting on the bench, discussing merrily about their plans for the upcoming spring. They were excitedly talking when a sudden wave of emotion surged over Sandy, forcing him to clutch his heart as if to stop it from palpitating. Then there was a sudden glow of light, a yellow streak falling straight on Sandy's head, blinding Buendia sitting beside him. He couldn't see anything for a minute and when at last the wave departed; he was numbed, losing his senses and unaware, slid down the bench on the cold ice. But his heart went ever colder than the freezing snow under him that he could feel warmth of the place. Sandy lay on the bench, flat; eyes wide open, a hand on his heart with no sign of life.
The days went by, horizons washed away their white paint; grounds were green again, streets were crowded once more, birds chirped overhead, pleasant scent of flowers gorged the atmosphere but he was still as stiff as on the day of Sandy's last. Sat there unaffected. He was waiting for the spring that descends in the dead of winter. The spring that brings back the lost. The spring that dwells in the chilling core of December. He had a hope that he would get to meet his friend this winter; in the beautiful heavens. That would be the best spring of the wounded soul, and may be, of the life after death. He had a belief that spring meant happiness and nevertheless the bliss around him, he couldn't be happy alone! He needed his best companion right beside him, to feel the pleasure that nature offered. The materialistic spring, to him, amounted to shucks; he was the merchant of the ornaments that adorned the soul. Hearts of those narcissists couldn't afford to feel the joy of meeting a long lost friend, which lay far beyond the merriment the weather of sunshine brings. That was it, the spring dwells in the heart, not in the milieu.
Whoa!
The sky was glowing yellow, once again; brighter than ever, rays falling right under the withered tree. My spring was blessed......
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