A WEST-LAKE EVENING.
A WEST-LAKE EVENING.
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| Photo credits:@werner7 |
The sun is setting far in the west. The glowing fiery ball hurries behind the stretch of smoky mountain ranges sending its golden rays across the green fields.
The leaves of the massive blue gum trees swish in
the evening breeze and sparkle with a hue of gold on their surfaces as they
reflect the fading sun's rays.
The air smells of freshness following the rainy
season that just ended and the emerald blanket of grass covering the plains and
hills across stretches far and wide. On the other side of the lake flocks of
sheep and herds of cattle have begun to descend the hills from grazing fields
with the shepherds trailing behind.
It’s yet the end of another day, the crane bird
flies past beating its oversized wings in search of the tallest tree to perch
for the night. The squirrels and mole rats dash to seek the warmth and safety
of their dens as the night creeps in flooding the world with darkness.
Farmers retire from the fields with their tools
slung over their shoulders dragging their feet tired from working under the
scorching summer sun all day. Their pants that are torn on the knees, dirt
filled while their sun bleached shirts cling tightly on their backs like a
second skin from perspiration.
The women stroll along in small groups from the
market with basketfuls of groceries balanced on their heads as they speak in
hushed tones probably the juiciest gossip trending at the moment in West-lake the
small quaint village that I have known as home for more than twenty years now.
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| Photo credits:@espaciomasinstante |
The children are running hither tither to complete
the chores before night fall compels them to remain in the confinement of their
huts; yes you heard it correct, huts. See mine is a small village comprising
mainly of peasants therefore a majority of the populace do not have your average
stone house but are content.
I am sitting on a rock by the little brook not
very far from my house that happens to be my favorite pastime spot while in
West-lake. Seated in my “fairyland” as I christened it, I take in the all too
familiar sight that marks the end of each day in this tiny village by the edge
of the forest.
By this time the last rays hinting that the sun
was there at all have completely disappeared beyond the horizon. I lift my eyes
to gaze up on the night sky and the sight is one to behold. The clear blue sky
is sprinkled with countless stars twinkling from bright white to yellow to
orange shades. It amusingly reminds me of a trail of fairy dust not that I have
seen one in reality but just from watching too much work of fiction.
Meanwhile, on the far eastern horizon a large
orange ball is peaking slightly to announce it arrival into the scene. It’s a
beautiful and peaceful night as always in our small farming village. The one
thing I adore about the place. You never have to constantly watch your back for
potential attackers. One can actually walk home way late into the night without
bumping into any creepy looking fellas except for the company of a few drunkards
staggering from Lazlo’s; the complete opposite of the busy and polluted high-tech
crime scenes that go by the name of cities.
As I sit alone in the small meadow watching the
moon rise high in the sky its color changing from deep orange to dazzling white
each passing moment I can’t help but wonder how time flies and reflect on the
day gone by. Staring blankly into the distance I ponder the mysteries of life.
People are always looking for something more. Is that extra something wealth,
power, status, honor, love? Why does man wake up each morning to run up and
down every day aging with each sunset slowly wrinkles form on his face, the
once black hair turning white while he is still at it. It’s always the same ole
routine even watching the sunset at West-lake.
Rising to my feet, I make my way swiftly through
the woods behind my cottage. Passing by a few huts it dawns on me that it might
actually be way late into the night if the dying embers are anything to go by.
Quickening my pace I hurry past Nerrisa my
neighbor’s house being careful not to snap any fallen twigs that may otherwise
alert her dogs to an intruder’s presence. Ms. West-lake paparazzo is what folks
call her here due to her nosy character. Believe me I am not exaggerating when
I say the woman has practically taken up a full time job of knowing what
happens in the village like how Mr. Kwamboka beat up his wife for serving him
cold dinner the previous night and so on.
Reaching my front porch I let out a long breath I
hadn’t realized I was holding in. As I place the key into the keyhole of my
front door it simply swings open by the action because to my shocking
realization it was unlocked. My body tenses upon seeing the kitchen lights on. If I
wasn’t sure before about leaving my door open now I was certain since I did not
leave any lights on when I went out.
Would you like to see this story continued? who or what do you think is in the house? tell us in the comments below.
Loved it? like, share or both👇👇Remember sharing is caring!!
Love muchly,
Liz😍😍
Would you like to see this story continued? who or what do you think is in the house? tell us in the comments below.
Loved it? like, share or both👇👇Remember sharing is caring!!
Love muchly,
Liz😍😍
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