Nestled in the woods,
the trail rode uphill.
Wrapping around a quaint barn,
winding down in its path.
Like parting with the hill
that gave an abode.
It bid adieu, forking at the pond,
splitting ways east and west.

Barring an one-off weather,
Rishi would frequent the trail with vigor.
Be it the cold wintry dawn,
weak spring sunshine,
muggy summer sky, or
a warm autumn day,

He would be there as clock
stuck a certain time.
Strolling, biking, or jogging.
It was his time to immerse in nature.
Talk to her,
Listen to her.
Reflect on her,
Just experience her.

Whether he chose left or right
where the trail broke at the pond,
Rishi never missed a glance at
the frail lady perched on the bench.
Wavy gray hair tucked
under a vibrant scarf, or
An elderly frame clutched
under the wings of an umbrella.
The aging cheekbones would
stretch at the call of a Hello.

A slight wave of his hands
would be met with a weary smile.
A word of his greeting
would be returned with a pensive stare.
First at him, then at the
still water in the pond.

An hour with mother nature.
A moment with a motherly stranger.
It was Rishi’s two sources of positive energy.
The former –
a sense of inspiration.
The latter –
a notion of reassurance,
and apparent purpose.

One fine spring morning,
as the rays of rising sun
broke through the clouds.
Greens seemed brighter.
Browns were crisper.
The world seemed a lovelier place.
Just until….
Rishi arrived at the fork by the pond.
It was just the still morning air
vehemently trying to warm the bench.
The water in the pond –
eerily silent.

On the trail,
Rishi could hang to east, or
head the other way, west.
Yet deep within him,
he hit a chilling dead end.
Ten years ago,
it was his dearest mother.
Now,
it was the motherly stranger.

Photo Source: Google stock photos