I sit on the porch watching the sun slowly settling down for a night’s sleep. I can hear the birds rushing to their nests chirping and calling their neighbors to do the same. As always, I can feel the strange calm spreading through the atmosphere at dusk. For the last 14 years since I retired, I have stuck to this ritual of sitting out on the porch even before I lost my soulmate. She used to accompany me till the day she decided to leave me to experience this all alone.
I sit on the rocking chair with my last cup of tea for the day. A black bitter concoction that she hated but always loved to take a sip from my cup and grimace. Now that I remember those sips, I feel she might have been trying to make it a little sweet through that one sip or may be she wanted to show her solidarity in experiencing that hideous spew with me.
As the sun tries its best to throw some light on the mysteries of the night one last time as it disappears, the earth already starts preparing for the long slumber ahead. The orange glow hides more than what it should show. The silence that ensues amplifies sounds that is otherwise lost in the din of the day. I can hear the creaking. I forget if it is the creaking of my chair or my old bones. But the sound is oddly comforting.
At my age, you cling on to anything from your past, as if you are trying your best to hold on to your life. No, I am not holding on to life like a drowning man. In fact, I have been waiting patiently for the infamous cold hand of death that one hears about at all times. She never told me if it was cold or hot. She just left, smiling as usual; just like the day I saw her for the first time.
To be continued…