Creek

Grey… The world becomes grey when I move over the creek. The rail track a dark grey, the water a light grey, the sky a lighter grey and the mist surrounding me is the lightest, almost white grey. The horizon is blurred; the sea and sky go from being one to another at no definite point, almost as if one flows into the other. The buildings on the far end are hazy at best and the clouds hanging low over a small hillock just add to the chimerical atmosphere. But I think it is the mist that does it. It is the soft mist that casts a clock of surrealism on everything around, making me feel I am in transit between two worlds and this short stretch is a walk with my inner self. A walk where I become oblivious to the people around me, to the jostling, pushing and to the incessant babbling din that can only be the result of hundred or so women crammed in a space meant for fifty. And yes, I do become oblivious to all that. When I look at the rippling water flowing under the bridge, I sometimes think of life, sometimes of death, sometimes of dad, working so hard to keep all of us happy, sometimes of mom, who has made us her world giving up everything for our slightest joys. I also think sometimes of death, the 50 feet drop to the water below you can do that sometimes… It also makes me think of things I have deliberately pushed to the back of my mind, an introspection of sorts…