The shore-line and the tide

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By moon-rise, he is overcome by a nagging urge to retreat to the mysterious and spine-chilling depths of the ocean. With all the new barriers between them, efforts to reach her fatigue him and he is consumed by a desire to rest in the folds of the sea unfathomable. He morphs into a recluse, a saint meditating on spirituality, a hippie high on passionate wonder.

The abandoned boat rests on its side upon her exposed breast. Crustaceans crawl around searching for crevices to hide in. The shore-line still has the undulating ridges from where he had lazily drawn circles on her. And she had let go and swirled off with him in reckless abandon, and rested back light and happy.

Rhythmic impressions on her slowly get replaced by random scars left by crabs digging for a place to hide and fisher-men dragging their nets. Hopefully, tomorrow he will come and clear away the mess in her head again.

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The desert and the river - part IV: The banyan tree and the monsoon rain

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The little owlet that had taken shelter in her quiet, gnawed trunk peaked out of his hole enquiringly as the first cool zephyr alarmed her glossy leaves into a rustle, informing of his approach. The pair of chirpy squirrels stopped chasing each other through her branches and thought of hiding in a dark, private corner. The parakeets were suddenly quiet - waiting expectedly. The song in her heart died down, and she clung to the Earth with all her roots, waiting for the worst.

He came rumbling from over the hill, too drunk with the heady delights of a couple of hours of thunderous orgy - the ravaging of the hill-side with wind, rain and sleet - quite confident that the trees in the forest must have secretly enjoyed the storm after a whole year of boring quietude. But he was stopped short by the vision before him. Here was a tree that reminded him of childhood! He reached out gently to explore, at first, this magnificent and shy tree that appeared to be quite content without him; her dark, shady recesses almost inaccessible; her branches, just a moment ago, so alive with happiness.

The gentle kisses of the first few drops came as a pleasant surprise, the pitter-patter almost welcome. She shyly shook herself free of tension, the squirrels emerged from their secret hiding place, the parakeets broke out into chatter, the owl gave a hoot or two before turning comfortably back into his hole again. She would make friends with him if he promised to behave.

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The desert and the river - part II: The Tree and the Ocean

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She hangs at the precipice, almost falling in. For centuries she has stood there; and for centuries, she has been contemplating the depths of the waves that hit at the foot of the cliff. The depths. By now her roots have grown so deep that there's no chance of what appears to be inevitable.

He returns to her again and again. The urge to touch her - know her - overpowers him, and he leaves the psychedelic depths of the ocean to crash at her feet, get absorbed into the soil, and reach deep to her warm roots. Sometimes he goes wild and ravishes her passionately; sometimes he storms at her; sometimes he soothes her with his gentle rythmic cooing.

She closes her eyes and listens to the familiar sound of the crashing waves: he crashes and he recedes, he crashes and he recedes.

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