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They must have been really hungry for as soon as she set down the bowl, one of them-the brown one came jumping on its feet and started gulping the milk with a ‘plop, plop’ that indicated desperation. After what seemed like a few seconds, the mother made its way towards the bowl. Perhaps it was waiting for its kitten to satisfy itself first but the hunger was too much to be satiated in just a matter of seconds. The other one remained under the wooden table as they drank; walking, hopping, meowing around.

She stood there, waiting and gazing at them with the love of a stranger for yes; they were very strange to her. She had not looked at them and found herself filled with so much endearment before. And in an insane moment, there crept in her a desire to touch them. She had never touched them before nor had she ever wanted to. Turning her back to them, she breathed a deep breath-the kind she breathed when she admired nature. Embracing the early morning delicacies, she fell in wonder all over again at the crisp of the rustling leaves against the beautiful melt of the orange horizon into the blue and the gold. In a distance, she thought she heard a sparrow- the chirpy tweet that she relished waking up to.

It was not very windy that morning but she could feel the composure in the breeze; she knew there was some, for it had always soothed her. When she broke from her reverie and turned around, they were fast asleep. One does not like the tough cold porch floor for a bed. In that instant, she realized there was much more she could do instead of just reaching out to feel their fur. Calmly rushing inside the house- she dared not wake them up- she unlocked the kitchen cupboard beneath the cutlery drawer and retrieved a small basket which instantly made her cough. It was dusty and old and a tad too tiny for a family of three. But it was all she had. So she dusted it and spread her favourite woolen mat that she had once knit for she didn’t know whom back then. It was a blend of threads of different hues; there was a pleasant shade of purple, beach blue and baby pink. The borders were green and torn. It was lovely and all she had.

It is never gentle to wake one up as he slumbers. After pondering over the thought for a momentary lull, she settled the basket close to them beside her periwinkles which would provide a perfect shade from the afternoon sun. She waited and found herself silently wishing for them to climb up to her snug spot of affection. A peculiar feeling moved in her bosom when the white one woke up, started pecking at the edge of the basket and after realizing it was nothing to eat, it struggled climbed onto it. Not long had passed before the other two imitated its steps.

With a heart filled with warmth, she looked at them, her gaze growing intent with each blink. They were beautiful. A set of deep blue eyes opened into slits, reminding her of the small marbles she used to play with when she was six. They lazily watched her and soon tugged their owner into a deep sleep. She reveled in the sight like they reveled in the soft blanket. It was all she had but she had brought them home.

beauty · LOVE · Nature · quitsmoking · rain · smoke · smokelove

SMOKELOVE

He stood there. An unfathomable desire crept through him. He realized it was the first time in days that he had felt his own lips curve. He felt his smile widen and the dimple on his left cheek deepen. It was a lusty morning. This was the right time. Late dawn was generous. He felt the light weight in his pocket and then… trembled. No, he wouldn’t smoke today. But he was craving it, ever so sorely. The clouds gave a thunderous howl and there he was, under the pouring rain. He ran as fast as he could to save the tiny rolls from getting spoilt.
Heart pounding in the chest, feet thumping on the damp earth, he ran until the pavement took a turn. Something-he would never know what-stopped him.
A soft laugh sounded in the distance and he was immediately drawn to something too uncalled for, something that a heart of a tempted lover had no place to welcome. Had he not moved forward, he wouldn’t have known the source of that pleasant noise. Someone with a pair of spry eyes scrutinized something in the distant; body lying aimlessly on the grass, hands raised high, and palms facing the sky. He grew impatient or perhaps impatiently curious?
The meadow was entirely at the mercy of those persistent water droplets. What was it that had propelled her out of her comfortable bed that morning?
It was not until a drop of water fell on one of her eyelids that he heard the sweet laughter again. His pockets immediately began to droop. With an alarming gasp, he turned out the demolished box of his pleasure. The music stopped interrupting his thoughts and he wondered why. He met her probing glance as he raised his eyelids which now lazily blinked. Indolence turned into aggression when she smirked at him and thought he might explode when her eyes turned back to gaze at what seemed to be so indulging.
Time passed and for a momentary lull he thought he saw lightening falling on her. Was such a thing possible? The thought was maddening. He felt his feet hooked to the ground. Was it also possible to experience such treachery and look on? Perhaps, it was. And this was confirmed when it struck him how utterly intrigued she was with the way sunlight turned those harmful water droplets into beautiful electric sparks that ever so tenderly fell on her. Had he really been running from such a pleasurable experience?
He never sheltered his tiny mates again, never carried even one of them.