The scene was perfect, or would have been to a watcher who cared. The sky was brilliant, or might have seemed so to one who would have taken note of such a dismal fact. To one who was willing to see it, the beauty of the trees resembled those from some forgotten tale of lore, seeming to suggest that at any moment some dryad or nymph, or perhaps a satyr or two might break through their enchanted barrier, as a preamble to some great adventure or romance; at least so it might have seemed to another. The rich glade would be, to some, blissfully quiet, but just now it seemed rather to be in a solemn silence in face of the angry sadness I bore down upon its carpeted floor. I was not in a romantic frame of mind. I was not feeling inclined to respond to the many temptations of nature’s woodland themes.
Instead, I collapsed sullenly on the grassy earth and stared vacantly into the far reaches of the endless grains of matter before my eyes; staring, I say, but hardly was I seeing. Seeing was something I cared not to do just now. And I rather think that nature noticed this. From large to small, nature in its entirety seemed to draw back in distress at my mood and sit down in perplexity at my manner. But what did I care? Was I a romanticist that I should care for the subtle whims of the forest? No. I tried my best to ignore the pleading and pitiful advances of my surroundings and strove rather to focus on my own feelings at the moment.
Anger. Sadness. A bout of melancholy and a touch of something akin to despair. More anger. More sadness.
There is something of a comfort in the confines of one’s own emotions; something distantly soothing in the meditation of them when they are hot. They are strangely refuge-like in their contemplation. Rather like to the pleasure derived from a very slight and vague pain when one pricks the end of one’s finger; painful, yet not so much so as to render the effect undesirable, but just enough to confuse the senses and manufacture something like unto pleasure in the end. And so I strove to bathe myself in emotion, sitting in the solitude of my own feelings. I was perfectly alone with myself.
I shut my eyes to nature and let my own mind wander its own winding paths. For its paths were more lonesome and in compliance with my current frame of mind than those nature would have me travel. My mind went slowly from one minute to the next, looking angrily at each one. Lingering for one last glare as time finally passed me by. I simply would not allow myself to be comforted by anything or anyone. I would stay within myself and nothing would take me out. I was angry. I was sullen. I was not about to change.
My own world was good enough for me, for now. I had no use for the outside, which was so blissful, so happy, so entirely……quiet. Indeed. It was quiet. I opened my eyes and blinked, watching as the ground, so close at hand, came into focus. There, in front of me…..stood a flower; alone and smiling. As if it thought that its presence might change my mood. How naïve. I smirked at it and shut my eyes again upon its smiles. I would have none of it.
Once again time passed into something not worth reckoning. I waded in the angry sympathy of my feelings. I let them wash over me again and again, and they became yet more potent with every cycle. I turned off the outside world and let it fade. I watched the deepening blackness in the abyss behind my eyelids, as I let it grow upon my mind. There is something of a comfort in the confines of one’s own emotions, so I dwelt upon them.
Anger. Sadness. A bout of melancholy and a touch of something akin to despair. More anger. More sadness.
I cracked one eye. There it was, still standing right where it had been, looking as though it hadn’t noticed my dismissal, nor was discouraged by it. There it stood. Smiling, beaming, being happy. How disgusting. I frowned down at the pitiful little thing. It smiled right back up at me. I crossed my arms and sat up, glaring down furiously at the ignorant piece of shrubbery. It puckered up a little, but pulled itself together and continued beaming. No! It was not welcome. I was angry and would stay as such. I defied all of the forces of nature to tear it out of me!
I closed my eyes and attempted to return to my previous state. It would no longer come. I tried again to shut my eyes against the world. I could no longer concentrate on my feelings. Very well. I must, needs, then, do away with the distraction. I opened my eyes. There was the flower. Still standing, still smiling, trying its best to be joyful. I glared. How dare it intrude into my feelings and attempt to supplant the emotions my best efforts had induced. But it would not succeed. I zeroed in on the fragile shrub. It was a battle, a dual of the wills. My will was to be angry and sad. Its will was to be happy and make me so as well. I glared. It smiled. I crossed my arms and leered. It ruffled its leaves and beamed.
What an indomitable little plant. I could at least commend it for that. And it was beautiful… But no! I would not allow myself to be sucked in. It was an intruder, unwanted, and unwelcome. I turned my head away from the loathsome thing. Yet I fancied that out of the corner of my eye I saw it shake its head. Yes, and even shake with laughter at me. I turned back to it and frowned. It wasn’t much of a frown, but it was the best I could muster at this point. I frowned, and frowned. It smiled, and smiled bigger.
I fought it, but slowly, I felt my frown melt, and change direction. Slowly, against my will, the polarity of my expression began to reverse. I battled, but it was no use. Soon I also was smiling, yes and beaming. The world was a fine place, after all. Though sadness and anger come and go and at times supplant the beauty of our surroundings, yet they are only passing things. Nature never ceases to remind us that joy trumps all.
I looked around me. The scene was perfect. The sky was brilliant, sprinkling brightness through the endless reaches of atmosphere and past the masses of clouds. The beauty of the trees resembled those from some forgotten tale of lore, seeming to suggest that at any moment some dryad or nymph, or perhaps a satyr or two might break through their enchanted barrier, as a preamble to some great adventure or romance. The rich glade was blissfully quiet, throwing a lush carpet of velvety green over the rich earth, sparring on a theme of bliss already pervading a place so magical.
I glanced down at the flower. It was so lovely, so beautiful, so perfect. I smiled, happily down at the innocent shrub. It smiled joyfully right back up at me.
…
P.L
Little Boy In The Rain 