When the world turned grey
An inescapable blanket of grey settles in. The clouds don’t seem to relent. Their shield wall, an impenetrable testudo, blocking out the sun for days.
I am not being metaphorical. Merely describing what I have been seeing every morning. Everything is different when it is cloudy.
The world appears darker, shaded by the thick canopy of clouds that seem to engulf the ends of the visible sky. The tiny glimpses of the beyond does not reflect the joyous blue. It reflects a hard metallic gleam, as if the heavens were burning and all the cloud is just the resultant ash.
It isn’t easy to not let things like the weather bother you. I remember a time when I used to watch the sky and my tone of thoughts changed with the colour of the sky. In my own childhood innocence, the dark of the night easily gave me sleep. But now, slumber is hard to come by.
It is why I prefer the outdoors. For the relative exhaustion of the outdoors is better than the wallowing shade of the indoors that amplifies the darkness, both within the house and within your soul.
The air feels ominous, the wind a threatening whoosh, the lightning, a warning of things to come, and the hammering patter on the roofs around, a steady rhythm of danger.
I witness water engulfing the rooftops of someone’s home, ravaging the hopes and dreams of what lay within their tiny coops of shelter. It’s hard to take scientific explanations against a representation of such raw fury.
No matter the preparation and planning, there just isn’t an escape. Perhaps it is reflective of the life we all lead, of the inevitability of the end, of the futility of planning itself. May the first of the barrages be merciful, as do our hopes rally.
But we have long forgotten what language the world speaks.
Has our human intelligence also disconnected us from the very things that could speak to us? Is human language so alien to a world in which we originated, that only an unleashing of fury makes us listen?
Is interpretation the only means by which we can communicate with our own world? Or are we meant to be doomed by our actions and lack of attention to the very cradle in which we were placed?
