Thanks to Colleen M. Chesebro for this challenge, which explores Ekphrastic writing inspired by visual art (photographs). Annette Rochelle Aben has provided the photo for this month’s challenge.
At last I am here. Eyes brimming, I look at the stairs, worn by the vagaries of time but flanked with love by Mother Nature. Do you think you could guess my ecstasy? Never. Not even my soul mate could feel the flutter of my heart. Holding hands we look at the steps as I hurtle back in time and he gently embraces me.
“Thank you,” the words are muffled in my throat. I had yearned for this day. Recurring dreams evoked me to come here. We had planned this visit for ages. A visit I would cherish for the rest of my life. A visit that brought me back to my childhood. I am thrilled that the stairs have not been altered, each one holds my steps – tells a story of those carefree days, each one reverberating the games we played – running up and down, skipping two or four – the center of competition for the children of the house, each one a promise to self.
Time flew and exhilarating on the wings of youth, I went up to university and lost touch with those little moments of sitting on the stairs to share stories of the day, to watch stars and sing songs, oblivious of the world.
Grandpa was a youngster when he admired the construction workers while his dad was away at work. He would rush home after school to see how each brick was laid. He had told us all the stories of getting inspired from the workers he observed. He aspired to be like them. The charm of his stories and his loving face was associated with these stairs. A heart-warming memory.
Emotions overwhelm me as I step on the stairs that nurtured me; that gave a spring to my steps and taught me to climb higher. I did but I left them behind. Almost forgot about them. I sit and share many stories that I had buried into the fissures of my heart and realize how tiny moments are more precious than achievements of life – in fact they mold us. A cheerful and free childhood is a blessing.
The blue door opens and children rush out to play games on the stairs. They look at us curiously as if we were blocking their playground. We stand aside and watch – games never change.
This image evokes the memory of a sagacious song that each bounce of water whispered into my ears; the unforgettable lyrics… having the quality of a lilting and enchanting tune, unique in its form.
As the stream gurgled down with glee, I tried to sing with it and soak in those fleeting moments of unexpected joy. I marveled at its sparkling surge and luminosity that never loses its sheen.
I admired the freedom that nature endows us with!
I wondered at the message that was written on its ripples, the message of surging ahead, of making its own way through the impediments, of singing happily despite the turbulences created by the unforeseen circumstances.
Isn’t life like that? Can we detach it from water, its lifeline?
Is it imaginable without the rocky surface and inevitable incidence?
Can we stop its flow and speed? Can we evade change?
Its childlike innocence, its radiance, its twists and twirls remind us of little joys of life. Its depth and fortitude speak about the stormy weather, which is knitted into the fabric of our lives.
