The Open Sky

The September evenings were always beautiful. Sublime weather; the sky clear blue with not a single spot of cloud in it, the mild northwest wind blowing in our face, and the distant sun planning to take its customary dip in the western horizon. We spent most of those evenings in our roof flying kites, and watching strangers walk in the street in front of our house. I would usually get the kites up in the sky (the toughest part) and then hand the lattai over to my brother. I would watch him maneuver the big wooden lattai in his hand with utter carefulness, desperately trying to keep the lively kite afloat. I would yell some instructions if he ever had a hard time comprehending the sudden turns and plunges of our patched up kite. The rest of the time I would just sit there, staring at the clear blue sky and thinking about random stuff. I was about twelve back then.

I have always loved nothingness. Staring at the nothingness on top of me and trying to fathom its depth with my eyes while thinking of random stuff was one of my hobbies. Isn't this weird? As I have already mentioned in an earlier post, even now I stare at nothing blank screens. This probably explains why I have never fallen in love with patterns and why I haven’t ever been good at art. However, I don't know why I have a strange affinity for nothingness. I must be weird or very simple or both!

On a side note, it snowed once again here today. It's a mess outside. I miss my open sky.