Amal
now had a mission for her heart. Whenever
she had time, she hurriedly finished cleaning the kitchen and stepped outdoors. At first, she simply stood on the balcony and
observed. She took in each sunset,
soaking in the essence. She used all her
senses to absorb everything about it.
She
called back to descriptions she told Ali as he ate meals she brought. He seemed to internalize her words. In the moments on the balcony observing the
setting sun, she felt closer to the love of her youth. By now, she knew she couldn’t fantasize about
being with Ali. It couldn’t work. She was married and had to move on but wanted
to honor him in some small way. Sunset was
her remembrance. It was her honor of Ali. Sunsets were special to him and they became extraordinary
to Amal as a result.
After
observing for a month or so, Amal felt the need to begin writing down her
observances. Like when she first began
describing the nightfall skies to Ali, words were hard to find. Over time, it became easier. It was the same now. She sometimes felt she grasped empty air as
she reached for terms to describe God’s canvas.
She would simply do the best she could and trust He understood her
deficiencies.
In
the beginning, she inscribed her perceptions in a simple notebook. After a month of sunsets, Amal read over her
observances. For each one, she fought to
again visualize the sight, to experience the image. All in all, she was pleased with her ability
to articulate the wonders of each sunset.
A
few weeks later while her husband was out of town on business, Amal and Madhura
were discussing the progress of their herb gardens and other plants that were
recently planted in the hours before sundown.
Amal paused as they stepped onto the balcony, looking at the sky. Madhura took a moment to steal a glance
toward the sea. She remarked, “Oh, the
sky is striking!”
Amal
observed for a moment and responded, “Yes, the sea is like the blue-gray eyes
of a great beast. It is poised to rain
torrents upon us tonight.”
Madhura
looked at the young woman and remarked, “Wow!
That is poetic. Do you write
poetry?”
Embarrassed,
Amal replied, “No, I have been closely observing sunsets lately.”
“Ok,
but even people who watch sunsets aren’t so lyrical. You should start writing poetry. I think you would be good.”
“Oh
no, no one would want to read it.”
“I
would and I know other people who would like it too. I’m in an online community to do book reviews
and several of the people in our book club also write. You could start putting what you write out
there and see what people think.”
“My
husband would never allow it.”
“Who
said he needs to know. Everyone in our
group uses fake names. It keeps your
identity safe. He will never know.
“What? You?”
Madhura
nodded her head. “Daiwik was against the
idea of me using anything other than Facebook to stay in touch with our
children. After a while, he met someone
else whose wife regularly wrote stories under the name “Darla B. She used the bare minimum of a personal
description and she was going. Then he
warmed up to the idea.” Madhura added
with a laugh, “I was already in my book group by that time.”
The
wheels were turning in Amal’s mind. She
felt she could do this. It was nice to write
her descriptions of the sunsets she saw.
Also, she believed what she wrote was good. Only other people could validate that
thought. Did she dare try it? What name would she use?
Jo
March
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