The abandoned hammock at the backyard beckons me to step out into the broad day light. But I think I know better than to let a mere sight of a worn out hammock bring me out of the den. That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past 2 years, that I could resist its pull. That those days are gone and what’s left is only the memories of the days that slipped between my fingers like the grains of sand.
I still remember our evening walks with you pulling at the leash every time I slowed down to tie my laces that refuse to stay in place. I was clumsy and withdrawn ever since that summer night when the world came crashing down. However, you made sure I got my rest, sat with me through unannounced break downs and coaxed me outdoor for some fresh air every evening.
With you by my side, I relearned to stand on my own feet and face the world. But your sudden departure shook me to the core, leaving me curled up in bed all day and night. The muscles ache from disuse and my brain feels like its decaying. Further, every morning when I pull the blinds to let some light in, I see you lying beneath the hammock scratching your ears while I lie above reading out loud the lines of Thoreau –
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately,…….I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms…”
Thanks for reading!