To my left is an open window. Caged in, I let my memories wander.
Night life rushes to the front. When it’s night, why’s there light? Staring through the window at the beauty of the moon, I’ve had sleepless nights with music by my side; Lights from roads have haunted me resulting in recurrent dreams for more than a fortnight.
When it’s bright, all I see are members of the animal kingdom – the chirping birds that pluck out plants from the hanging pots; a cow that chased when I carried a heavy school bag; squirrels that get around the climber and disturb my nap by cracking open walnut shells over the compound walls; a distant well surrounded by coconut and toddy palms – a comfortable resting place of woodpeckers and Baya weavers.
I remember shutting the window on seeing a frightening Indian cobra standing at its full height, maybe at a distance of two feet, as an unwelcomed guest.
Why aren’t there any humans in my window sight? Do I live in a fantasy world or am I just another solitudinarian?