Remembrance

Sitting in a house berated by the winds, my solitude is as porous as silence, penetrated by the whistling of their uneasy passage through the cracks, their whispering alongside the beatings of my heart, my thoughts travelling with the wisps from my coffee mug.

I miss the days of leaning into the wind, of watching leaves swept sky high, of having my hair ruffled by their invisible fingers, of sudden storms that can turn day into night, of electric storms that shook the foundations of the building and of heavy rains that turn the cold marble floor to ice.

I used to remember watching sunlight playing on the raindrops as they hung precariously to to the railings, listening to my grandmother's chanting which is always in my mind, feeling an inexplicable sense of bliss, harmony and safety that stemmed from nowhere but simple existence.

I still miss her badly.