And the night was theirs

The sky was splashed with variegations. From subtle pink to deep orange. The deft strokes of paint brush painting the sky in motley of colors. And midst the palette, a mollified golden ball sinking below the horizon. The pink blending in dusky purple. The purple in plum velvet night adorned with million and zillion sparkling Swarovskis. The caresses of eventide and shivering silhouettes of wheat plants. The shadows of flocks returning home, the birds flying back to their nests, lending moments of privacy to the horizon ablaze with passion. The twilight made resplendent by the yearning, anticipation and consummation.

Gunjika cherished the moment. It helped her suppress her own ache. Her husband was out there somewhere in these shadows. Manning and securing the horizons. So as to lend a perfect backdrop to the love stories of the beating hearts oblivious to all the bombing and shelling.

Before leaving, her husband had brought her to the porch. And when the twilight was consumed by her philia, he had whispered his love to her. Gunjika replayed the scene every nightfall. Repressing her anxiety and fear for his safety.

She looked at her phone again. Blank black screen. No call today. Anxious, scared, petrified, she got and walked out to the swing. Playing hide and seek with the horizon to calm her frayed nerves. Suspended for a minuscule minute against raisin colored twilight, and then falling back like waves.

She felt an accelerated push to the swing. She wanted to look back but she was already defying the gravity. Touching the skies. And then as she started falling back, she could not resist her laughter. He was here. She knew he was here. Her soldier husband home after many days, safe and sound.

The sunset slowly opened the music of night. And the night was theirs.

Courtesy: Ermilia Blog : Picture it and write

Linking with Ermilia Blog: Picture it and write