An Enchanted World
I’m sitting on an old carpet. In the partial light, I can see that it’s a beige one, but under the wear of years it might as well have been gray and I would never have noticed. Here and there i can see the dark round holes left on its surface by the careless flick of a lit match or the ash of a cigarette. The carpet there turns black and one can see the blue stone floor underneath.
Its wear has also given to it a unique texture. That which would near abouts tear your skin if you happened to slide your feet against it in some haste. And so I sit carefully, with my feet tucked firmly away from it, nearer the door.
I’m sitting on a carpet in front of a door. Not a solid wooden door like you see for large rooms. And not a glass door, like the ones you see at the shops. No, this is a rather special door, because it’s made of metal.
What is this metallic door? It isnt really metal. More like wires. Long thin ones entwined, interlinked and almost fixed in long identical boxes no larger than through which not a mosquito would be allowed through. It is suspended in between large planks of wood that were nailed togather by a weary carpenter nearing the end of his life many years ago. How do I know this? Because the nails in the woodwork have not been arranged in a row. My imagination pictures a wrinkled man with a hammer in his hand and a nail in the other smacking down relentlessly, not looking at where his blows fell, as the years had made his eyes of little use. No, his arm knew where home was, and how to drive the hammer through it.
Anyways. Before this ramble gets ahead of me. It is raining behind this door with the odd nails and the wire mesh. It is raining very hard. In my ears rings the crackling of the heaven’s tears as they crash down on the stone pavement in front of our door. It is quite nice sitting here despite the uncomfortable position of one behind a door on the ground.
It’s nice because I can feel on my chest a striking light, originating far overhead behind the sky, and one that rings a sonorous drum in its wake every now and then. Behind my closed eyelids, I can feel the shining sky and wait for the crash that I always knew would be coming. The rain however shows no end. It is good. She washes our earth when she hears its plight. Togather in the symbiotic ecosystem they exist.
My eyes are shut more because I wish to absorb the air and the sounds completely. I find rain and her thundering friend to be my eager ears. I close my eyes so I am not cluttered with sight. I wish only to hear as they shout, one above the other below.
The water plops down onto the stone before me and its splashes reach towards me. And because my eyes are shut I cannot see them. I only anticipate where on my face they will land next. It is quite a thrilling job really. A little prick of a cold splash of ice too small to brush away and too large not to be felt lands on the corner of your mouth, and disappears. Alongside it, another one this time on your nose. And all through until there is no real estate left unwatered.
The rain still pours and through the mesh reaches your face. Its everywhere and nowhere. It’s cold, but the wind is warm. It will be a hot day today. If the clouds leave to water another land. If not I shall still sit here with my hands folded eyes shut and legs crossed on this old weary carpet in front of this oddly nailed door just to wait for the heaven’s to pour, and for the sound again to fill my weary heart.
The water covers the pavement and slinks in torrents down to the grass below it. I had cut it only yesterday and the pieces floated on top, already brown in the June sun.
It’s only 5:17 am right now. And it rained. Nothing extra ordinary here. Only a little magic hidden in a mundane swamp. Tread lightly, pip pip!
