Daylight vanishes into a thick dark fog. The outside looks like a vintage photograph. The day puts on a mourning black. The lights outside like vigil candles are alight. I play melancholic sweet-sad Celtic tunes to mourn what was once a day. I must keep vigil till the blessed morning of resurrection, till the great Eastern Orb raises in the morning hush.
The feeling of being watched spooks me but the mystery and poignancy it brings is gripping. It transports me to the days long sped, flooding my mind with memories of my younger days long spent.I have fast aged and I do not find cure for age. There was a time my joints used to move freely without pain. Nowadays when I get to a hill’s crest I can hear my bones creak. Soon I will be older than this and dull folds will form on my brow despite my eating food that my grandmother can pronounce.
There was a time the days were unhurried. The days I was not old. The days of calm beneath the rolling emerald hills of Ngaa.Growing in a sleepy village, the gleaming splendour of moonlight, spiced by scent from leagues of flowers that bloomed at the garden was spellbinding. The crickets sound too, and other unknowable ethereal sounds.I found joy in those toddling days.
Years went by, the bond with the night kept growing, and numerous moonlights came and passed. I recall very well, sometimes when the moon was out, I would get a bone for Pepe. Pepe would follow me as I followed the moon up the silhouetted hills.Pepe and I would drink from the moon’s cup of happiness, washed white in her gleam. At the same time,the bond between a lad and his dog kept growing -as all men know,the heart of a dog is profound mystery,so is the night and lady moon.I realized however, I needn’t treat a thing of beauty with suspicion else I will have no room to befriend it and love it. ‘Love indeed doesn’t ask why, and never explains ‘.Yes, I found my true love in solitude that comes with the fall of the night.
Fast forward-2005.I’m a functional human adult. Demands of life have set in.I have been thrown into a world on speed lane.I’m losing sight of vistas.I retire dog tired,no more time to savour the darkness;it’s silence,the stars sparkle and the flooding moonshine. Because I’m an adult it would be awkward to be seen bathing in the moonshine or muttering to the stars, or talking to Pepe’s descendants. I cannot eat my popcorns in peace. Adults are solemn, my elders would regard these things ‘childish ‘,and such stereotype a once happy lad, I develop a perpetual forlorn look,splashed all over my face.
A decade later, I start questioning the expectations of adulthood. I realize as much as it came with responsibilities, it also robbed me happiness. I realize what adults regard mature are only things upgraded from childhood,and much of it is actually silver platter.Adults replace the ogre stories with stories of forex and tax,the toys have become bigger,they replace rope skipping with road trips. Anything ‘childish’ done by an adult is deemed stupid.But I realize that there is child in every adult, a baby that wants to be pampered. A baby that wants to romp after a good meal but it cannot because it will be scorned. So I start reading ogre tales in secret and talking to the moon friend when alone.
Slowly I reclaim myself and once again I am reconnected to sister nature. I fall in love with humanity folklore and wild friends. I become a celebrant at the altar of life. I find bliss in mundane things of life.At a fleeting instance I feel like I am the youngest soul. My bones are finally unshackled. My soul is unshackled. I can take my wine openly.I’m not in competition with anyone, only seeking to become better than I were yesterday and doing my job well in my tenure on Earth.
They tell me that half of my expected life is already spent and this my noon. As an optimist and a believer in new beginnings, I name this stage of my life ,a dawn at noon.See, I find the counting years a kind of countdown to an end, a ticking clock of a dwindling life. Family and friends are keen to remind me that I’m growing older and soon wrinkly but to me birthdays are notches of infinity. At my N-th birthday I will have abandoned my mortal body, as such I will not be able to celebrate my manufacture. I’m not sure as a future ghost it will even be practical or important.
While I heartily appreciate goodwill messages I am not keen about celebrating myself; by doing so I will be taking undue credit for a creation feat which I did not participate in. I glorify the creator for my formation and sustenance and much respect to my parents for making sure the package arrived safely and for seeing me through my helpless days.