“If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence”
~ George Eliot

Last Sunday evening, after finishing my reading session, I was taking a stroll in the lawns outside the library when I noticed the area to be mostly empty with overcast skies above. I decided to stand still in the midst of this beautiful place. How many times during a day or even a week do we observe our surroundings like I am doing now, I asked myself. I looked at the grass, the trees and the rock stones that lay wonderfully encapsulated in the softness promised by this landscape. But the question was still flickering my mind. To a natural surprise, I saw butterflies emerge from the hedges, evening birds chirping on the trees and welcoming more of their brethren as if to join for one final conference of the day, before settling over the branches to take rest from the day’s flight.

Then a rare thing happened. Here comes a baby squirrel running towards me. It stops suddenly just a step away, looking at me with its tense tail swaying. And I am astonished to witness the kind of palpable energy with which it approached towards me and is now saying something or asking rather, with eyes fixed at my face. Unbelievable. The spell is momentary, and the squirrel starts running around as if frenzied with an excitement I dare not imagine about. The little squirrel runs all over the place, halting only to find a rare grass blade or some seeds and nuts maybe. With my hand reaching out habitually for my mobile camera, I sat on the ground trying to observe and hear the heart of Nature beating in a lyrical movement of these living beings.

For the next few minutes, as few would believe, the baby squirrel posed for my camera. Perhaps, it was just too excited to come in some contact with one of these ferociously walking giant-like figures. I can say, this adventure for the little animal was worth it, just like it was for me. The squirrel looked happy. So was me. It started growing dark and we had to say goodbye. I, seemingly the less sensitive of the two, did it first. With special memories and a faint smile on my lips, I left for a more ‘civilized’ place.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The traveller reaches Lisbon

"So finally, here is Lisbon. But before undertaking the adventure, which he finds somewhat intimidating, the traveller wants to visit the village on the estuary known as Carcavelos, to see something that few people know about, when you think of the million inhabitants of Lisbon and the thousands who come to this coast, that is, to conclude, the parish church." ~ Journey to Portugal As I begin reading the final third of this book, the 'traveller' looks as excited as ever and this turn is placed in such a way as if the whole travelogue had been busy in preparation for a visit to Lisbon, though appearances could still be deceptive. Strangely enough, the church and its architecture seems to be the element of the traveller's interest. There is no place devoid of it. Saramago, I reckon, intends to infuse various elements of Portuguese culture and is careful to include both the landscape and the art that adopts it. This is the reason why this book is more than a trave
Read more
Image
The Lives of Things by José Saramago My rating: 4 of 5 stars 'The Lives of Things' is a collection of six short stories originally published as 'Objecto Quase' in 1978. The epigraph by Marx marks, uninhibitedly, themes political and social which the author essentially elaborated upon in his later fiction, especially in 'The Stone Raft', 'The Cave' and the tour de force, 'Blindness'.   'The Chair' opens the book, in the stream of consciousness narration, and obliquely reflects on the political state of affairs under the Salazar regime. The subject of the fall of the chair takes the reader on a trip to imagine, understand and question the conceptual contours of this fall which, in the case, was inevitable. Still, the approach of presenting the manifestation of the rot, the behind-the-scenes work of an essential and yet seemingly inadvertent opposition set up by the too much-ness of one's proclaimed authority, is tongue in cheek to say
Read more

Poem

This is in response to my friend's beautiful postcard-pictures to inspire and create something in return. http://sonamdema.blogspot.com/2011/06/in-love-again.html And so I have; come up with a spontaneous verse I hope to have justified with the effort spent behind the camera. The title of the poem is not mine; for it got 'inspired'.          In love again Is it the breeze that instills Rustling wind of the reeds, Or nature's light which fills My prism'd heart, a vibrance of beads. I do not quite know What it brings on its wings. But my vision is worth the glow Astride a pathless trail when it sings. Sings it the song I once loved at school.. Brings it along the wonders that belong. Fills it forevermore the fields we then thronged.. Sees it I imagine once again my lost jewel. Through the stone-streets have I walked. Treaded many a witness to the fields. But lo! the hut calls me thither again, 'Blue of the sky' is what
Read more