No, there wasn’t anything she had to do or say or think that day. The grass was, sure, growing a bit higher that she would have liked. The flowers though were still in pretty shades of orange and pink and yellow. Her little stream was looking a little dry that morning but then the sun too had been out for a few days now, she supposed that with summer coming, she could expect to see some bit of dip in the water level. The pebbles had changed their tune too, the rhythm seemed a little more pronounced, on a higher note, slightly faster. Or maybe it was just her mood that day, upbeat.
Once the sun was up, she walked out of the quaint little cottage she lived in, a home she had made out to look like the postcards she collected in her childhood. A dull white picket fence was at a distance from the house in the clouds. The blue walls, parts of which entangled with ivy, a stark green and the wooden windows and doors let in the purest breeze. She liked opening the doors in the late evening, lighting up the fire and snuggling under her favourite red blanket with a book to write, or to read, or just with her thoughts. Some days, the chill was all the more heavy in the winds, but pahadi that she was, she knew she could take it.
The path that led down from her house was tiny, just enough for one person to walk by. Deodar trees grew at a distance, and through their branches she could hear the giggles of beautiful girls with cheeks the colour of plums, laughing shyly at the silly jokes a hapless boy was trying to make. A dog passed by, suddenly afraid of her, barking, suspicious. She walked past, hurrying to get back to her favourite spot.
That place. She must have spent a lifetime there, dreamt dreams for thousands of lifetimes. Past the deodar trees, down her little slope, the path turned and suddenly she saw them. Her beloved mountains. And the corners of her mouth smiled again, just like the first time she had seen them, just like that moment when she knew this is where she belonged.
White clouds had settled down on the mountains, she knew that they would lift soon. Her view of the
mountains were never obstructed for long. She knew that some of their tips would still be snow capped, some would have allowed the sun to rest a few of his rays on them, delighting themselves in the magical play of yellow gold and a shadow here and a black rock face there.
Her walk would take her along the route. But all she wanted was to sit today. Sit and look at them. Wasn’t it the thousandth time she was doing that? She could have done it for a thousand more. It was not often that she thought much there. The mountains left her blank, for some reason. Beauty of that scale had that effect on her. She could just sit and watch the mountains, day in and day out.
Watch the first rays kiss the tops of the snow and welcome in a new day. Watch as the sun got higher and force her to retreat a little back under a tree. Watch as it got hotter and the clouds lifted. Watch the sun go down and leave behind a warm glow of pink and purple hues to frame the peaks. Watch the space even when she couldn’t see the faint outlines in the dead dark of the moonless night. And watch she did.
The mountains were there. Tall and silent. Beautiful. Almost profound. Overwhelming her with their bearing and the scent of the breeze they sent by. They were just there, always.
And it was just another day in paradise for the girl of the mountains.