The road is wet from the rain last night. I avoided getting playful with the patches of puddle. So I walked like a guy who drank a lot of alcohol but still trying to get home. The petrichor, however, made me happy. I don’t know why I like it. But there is something with the scent that triggers my happiness.
As I was walking on the street from my apartment to the nearest bus stop, I heard a familiar sound. The rhythmic chirping of birds. It registered to me as if they were having a concert. Even the cicadas were silenced. There must be hundreds of these winged creatures perched on the branches of the trees towering over the pavement and a third of the main street for vehicles. Every summer, photographers and tourists flock to this side of the town for a snapshot of its beauty, its magic. The yellow flowers at the tip of the branches never failed to amaze people.
I stopped and listened to the song of the birds. I muted the roar of passing vehicles. I did not mind the tamed laughter of passersby. Once in a while, a flower is released from the tree and freely takes its last flight to the ground. Some of them coloured my line of sight. Some went directly to where they were going.
The serenity of the moment separated me from the rest of the world. I was there, standing with closed eyes.
I did not hear the cracking of a branch. It’s an old branch. Decaying. Ready to take its last drop to the ground. Maybe the birds were too playful. Maybe their density outweighed the holding power of the outer bark of the branch. And just like that. The sudden gust of wind broke the branch. The birds fell silent.
My heart stopped beating. Blood commenced oozing from my head, like the reddish sap of the tree. People rushed towards me.
(Photo by Mahmud Yussop / alltheplants4.blogspot.com.)
DEXTERIFICATION 