Wanting Her(#1)

13

In this light that paints her facial skin so warmly, the trees are like dancing ladies, they move, choreographed by the wind, in perfect time with one another.

They are the life and soul of this summer afternoon and she wonders how many hues of green her eyes are witnessing.

On fine days such as this she feels their energy the same way the smile of one she loves infuses her soul, raising her higher.

So she paused , letting her feet join the serenity of quietness, and breathe. That's when she feel it all the more, sense energy from the trees, the birdsong and the very soil upon which she stand.

The gusty winds played around with her pashmina that was,thankfully secured with pins and supported with the side bag on her right shoulder .

Wind,she has no control over it because it is not hers to control. It moves the world in a way that moves the soul. She cannot grasp it at all,It is invisible in daybreak and nightfall.

Yet it turns the grass into a sea and never fails to amaze her. It's sound is a tickle to her ears, but yet a roar to her fears.It is soft and lilting but yet loud and deafening.

Walking home from the bus stop under the therapeutic weather , Noor took in all the gifted moment between them, there is such freedom, an infinitely branching path with no paths at all.

Returning home feels like a tortoise retracting into her shell,she immured herself within its carapace and plastron. The troubles of the world dilating . To anyone else this is a house like all the others exactly like it on this street, but to her it is penitentiary , it is unearth,it is chaos.

By the time she got home, the sun was beginning to set and enveloped the city in a blanket of different hues of red, orange and everything in between . She scurried down the path towards her house, her shoes slapping against the stone steps that led to her front gate.

The door was left slightly ajar unlike every other day that she had to knock to the point of almost hurting her knuckles before she was let in. Shrugging her shoulders as she passed through the door with ease not bothering to check whether or not the gateman is around,she is late as it is she wouldn't want an encounter with Mammy at all.

A brand new flower pot to the right of the door that led to the inside of the house,was filled with pink and yellow chrysanthemums. She wondered where the woman gets her exquisite flowers from, but that is expected from a woman with a very peculiar taste,her uniqueness and knack for things as such.

The metal of the doorknob was cool against her palm and she twisted it with ease, entering the well-lit hallway that led to the living room came in view, neat as she left it.

She wasted no time before making it to her room,quickly discarding her veil after a very careful unpinning process and dashed into the ensuite bathroom.

Noor came out minutes later with precipitation on her prominent parts. She spread the embroidered mat facing the qibla,swiftly,she covered herself with an oversized,floor length hijab and began to read her Asr salah.

Noor devoted more than five minutes uttering her duas, her prayers have always been spontaneous.

The incoming call made her phone vibrate against the wooden vanity table, within nano seconds she had it in her palm, the corner of her lips stretched in a smile upon seeing the callers ID ,quickly ,she slide the green answer icon.