That obscure line between reality and imagination

Not always is there the otherwise pleasant breeze in the air. And as usual the first reason that is easily churned out is fate.
' It just happened so'
Why? All that is in answer is shrugs, maybe a few downward glances and that very particular shrug which seems to give the best answer, - the futility of such a question.

Pondering about it assumes a new lead. Its simply akin to searching for that drop of poison that got spilt in milk. Even if you do find it, there is no surety that you will ever know you found it. It is just as close as it gets. You know you got it, but you don't know it. You are not confused, no you no you are not. It's just that all you've got is why you are not feeling the breeze, not why the breeze stopped and for that matter, you're not even sure there was a breeze in the first place or whether it was created by a tingling on your body by a figment of your imagination..

Breeze into the rainy darkness..

Why is there a breeze when it rains? That cool flow of air gliding over our face, creating a halo of happiness, a particular urge to go out and dance in the rain or simply jump about? Or sometimes that unearthly serenity, a tranquility that spreads itself throughout our being.

It is a quarter past midnight and the whole city is sleeping. Streetlights here and there illuminate the drops that seem to be falling in a timeless stream. The nearby coconut trees stand up tall, their leaves swaying to and fro in the draught that blows softly, cool as it be yet comforting that it is. From where I am I see puddles forming, getting larger with every falling drop. The silence of the night has given way to the pattering of the drops and the sweet melody that wafts in from somewhere. The song keeps changing but the music is still in harmony with the rain. Somehow music and the pitter-patter of the rain has an interesting way of blending in with one another.

In the distance against the backdrop of the night sky I can see a lone coconut palm. Its leaves, the ones pointing to the top keep fluttering in every fresh wave of the breeze.

I slowly slip back a few years. I remember a rainy night not unlike this one, when I sat staring at the pond beneath my place, the rain making newer patterns on its waters every now and then. There was a cool breeze and again swaying coconut palm leaves. The darkness over the water was split only by some stray light emerging through some trees. Sitting alone in the darkness, musing at the rain and the melody it created, gazing into the night sky, wondering about nothing in particular.. Rain, light, breeze, melody...

This is yet another rainy night, one that forms the many hundreds in this lifetime. Every passing night is fresh, each better than the other yet rival to none, each unique in a way that only feeling it can express. . . .