I’m living in a valley surrounded by the lofty mountains. A tiny streams cuts these giants cradling the world around it by its constant gurgling. The stream is sluggish these days. The shadows of winter have crept into the its soul. It meanders slowly in introspection and retrospection. It no longer caresses the shore, no longer recounts its lores. It’s consumed in itself. There are few more weeks to spring. Few more weeks for the shroud to be removed. Few more weeks for the stream to laugh again, few more weeks before it sings of adventure and travel. The winter is full of woes but the sad stream continues to flow. It’s a part of the valley, part of the selfless mother nature.
The valley is like a mother that has opened her bosom to accomodate us, embracing us in her warmth, nurturing and cradling us by her rivers, guarding us by her mountains. No matter how harsh the winters may seem, she will still greet us. We can always take refuge and call it home. I feel grateful for this love.