A Few Drops of Rain

The pensive sky, in its grey ominous glory, watches quietly from above. Fatigue creeps upon me as I gaze at the drops of rain on the glass pane of my car. The world is silent, and yet there is the sound of the rain. It imparts comfort and cleanses the bedaubed world.
All that occupies our day suddenly becomes irrelevant. Brief thoughts of post-it notes scribbled with action items flashes into my mind but is quickly flung afar. Now is not the time to reflect on the tribulations of our existence. Rather, now is a time to let ourselves be enveloped by the atmosphere. A few drops of rain, a gentle breeze, and a realization that all the troubles of this life, will eventually get washed away.

The Changing Winds

The world is moving, the clocks are turning, the weather is changing and all we can do is marvel.
My days are packed with work and I do not get enough time to look at the beauty presented all around, but as I was driving back after yet another beautiful day, I paused involuntarily at a traffic light and glanced at the diaspora around.
The grass is changing color, the flock of birds have returned, Yet another tree reminds me of dancing ballerinas, and the bluish grey sky sobs heavy and wet tears...Spring is here.
And as I sip into a relaxing mug of warm organic white tea, time and life in general starts moving in flash forward. Like pictures on the wallpaper of life, zooming by regardless of whether we see them or we don't. The winds are indeed changing.

The Sights of Life

We are visual creatures. Inaminate beings brought to life by the sights of the world.

Animate beings who then form memories based on the inprints left on our minds.

These imprints are visual and textural, based on what we see, and what we feel, Colors, patterns and textures. These define how we see the world.

Colors dance out and take other worldly forms. Trees seem to dance like ballerinas. The discarded feather of a peacock strikes us in visual splendor and we realize that visual sights are everywhere. All we have to do is see.

Dissimilar Similarity

Redundancy is a defining factor of our personality. We all thrive in the familiarity of the familiar. We build routines, we stick to them. We build routines, to stick to routines. We are creatures of routine, from the moment we were born, we learn by replicating all that we see.

 If you have read any of my previous posts, you would know that I try to present a metaphor for every picture that I take. Being a frequent traveller, my nights are spent somberly gazing at the roof of some nondescript motel in the Midwestern region of the US. I gaze at the roof, which doesn't really catch my fancy.

My attention is then arrested by the lamps. Now, I know that you are probably thinking...not another set of lamp pictures... well, that's exactly what you are going to get. These are different from the ones that I have posted before, similar in the angles that the picture was shot, but different in the mood and the light that it projects, which goes to show, that in the cloaking blandness of mass market motel consumerism, there shines a tiny "light" of uniqueness.

Frozen Thoughts

We are forever travellers. Each moment of each day is spent journeying from one end of life to the other. This journey could be joyous, or could be arduous, it could be enlightening or it could be soul crushing.

 One thing is certain, that through all the highs and lows, there are scattered memories strewn along the never ending path of life. These are the sights and sounds that we see.

 A meal at a restaurant with loved ones, the sun setting over a puddle of water, a tree on a nameless path in the middle of the highway, or a vacant building in the middle of the night, each image stays with me, like pictures on the stereoscopes from a forgotten childhood. Pictures that represent a memory, an event, a though, which now lies frozen in the infinite scroll of the internet.

The Lonesome Leaf

Somewhere in the turbulence of the frost, and the careening sound of the icy rain, I feel a slow turning of the wheels of life. I feel the sprouting of the first blades of grass somewhere on the expanse of the lawn. Awoken from its slumber, I feel "it" beginning.
Maybe its not a moment to rejoice. There is still snow on the ground, people still wear layers of wool and warmth albeit one less.
Its on the corner, its arrival in a few weeks is imminent. For now, I look at the sole fallen leaf that the melting ice uncovered. It lies like a corpse dug up, A sole remnant of its past life. It probably had a story, it probably meant something, but every ghost story exists in reflections in the mirror, when you turn around, there is nothing.