Nightfall in Paradise

It has finally rained. At first, things were flying all around the place. Then the water was falling for almost half a day. Clouds still linger above the garden, faint cold breeze soothes the fragrant land.

Crickets are shouting like crazy. Well, technically they don’t shout, but never mind. Blackbirds living in the dense catalpa crown chirp their alarm — our local ginger tigress went out on her regular evening patrol. The rest sings, taking their young for a sundown feast.

Those are my friends. Those whom I know. Those are the ones who can see me. Those who know who I am. This is the heaven on Earth, the garden of Eden. If I believed in God, I would say he’s everywhere, in plain sight.

When I think of people I know, those who can see neither me nor anything else for that matter — just empty shadows they confuse with life — part of me rubs my imaginary index fingers against each other with silent mocking vindication, “He-he, I have told you. You don’t know, it serves you right.”

But part of me sighs with abandon, “If I could only give you what I see.” Yet, I know that I can’t. No one can. It’s impossible.

On one hand, it saddens my heart that my own kin, the human race, insists on being out of reach. On the other, I have a mixed feeling of disgust and exasperation as I see my beloved brethren desperately fighting each other in order to get a lick of the desiccated droplets of honey on the glassy outside of an infinite jar which holds all the sweetness of the world. It’s a disgraceful sight. Repulsive even.

Yet, by now, everyone was given the keys. No one can say that they don’t know how to open the treasure chest. Hence, there are no excuses. I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn. The ball is in your court. And so I wait.

Let’s play.