~~The Festival of Rain~~ When rain falls on the edges of joy, perhaps there is no joy which cannot take birth, until the first sun-rays of the next dawn. Frail evenings merge with the fresh mornings of memory and the languorous sun-filled afternoons. As I walked home seeing the distant Pahalgam Valley and the shrine of Zain-ud-Din partially covered by thin clouds, the remaining walnuts of this autumn came down with the wind smelling of wet rosebushes of childhood. The walnuts cracked open around me, the thunder clapped, and the rain poured like the first rain of Lidder Valley. It is one special festival of obliging leaves, muffled footfalls, briskly walking people and the quiet birds in their little nests, for which you need a heart to feel its unique presentation. The festival touched new depth with the cheerful reception of my barely walking niece at the doorstep, charmingly stroking her wet hair in the rain, welcoming me , welcoming rain, welcoming her sensory apprehension of the new sounds and sights. @ Awakening the interred emotions.
Posted on: Fri, 08 Nov 2013 11:34:17 +0000