Cold day discoveries

The winter had settled like a cooling balm. It wasn't instantaneous like it had been last winter. Rather more pleasant in its awakening. The trees had been mildly sprinkled with dew, and the evening approached must faster and left later. I had been content in nestling into the burrow I had made with my blankets. A weeks worth of books at my disposal. I'd only to get up thrice from my comfortable arrangement: For meals and to water the rose garden I had started midway through spring.

Being the dutiful grandmother that she was, Nan would stop by my room every other time to tell me how pleasant the weather was. Even when she knew I had first hand view through my window. Just to appease her ancient heart, I'd often times trudge through the lawns and often times the green lands during the evenings. The cold was always something I liked. The chill from the surroundings, and the warmth of my shivers that don't linger. It made the warmth all the more tasty.

Today in particular I had dressed myself in a particularly comfortable yet thin sweatshirt that was moderately suitable against the cold. My Nan suggested I could have a small picnic by the grove. A small clearing she said, if I was lucky to fall upon were filled with the most lavisciouly scented winter roses. The idea had planted quite the interest in me, for I loved nothing more than roses in particular.

With this addicting thought I had gladly accepted the basket that was handed to me, taking her advice to be back by sun down. 

The grove was quite different than Nan had described from memory. Her recollection of the place was more thinner in landscape and perhaps a younger green than what was now. The grove was immaculate in appearance. Though it was more denser and perhaps a harsher green than Nan had described, its beauty was very well intact. There were a wide cluster of trees ranging from neem to banyans. And there were several thickets of bushes with berries I'd guess were huckleberries and elderberries. Although i dare not taste them to stifle a rising desire.

For the most part, there was a general path one could follow. It was quite obvious from the other parts of grass. The pathway had more shortly trimmed grass whereas the ones around were slightly denser and taller. It looked like it had been a while since anyone had step foot in the grove, for every step of mine echoed strangely in this pleasant place. And the more I ventured deeper, the more it seemed like the place was resisting my presence.

The temperature had dropped exponentially since the start of my journey, and I was more and more regretting the poor choice of my attire. I walked for a very long time. My head solely looking at the ground as I dodged multiple rocks and gnarly roots. It became cumbersome after a while to have to do both this and navigate my way through the grass. The pathway had become more denser and blent in with the rest of the surroundings, that it was hard to tell where I was leading. It came to a point where I had to use the wooden basket in my hand to part the grasses for fear of snakes and other invisible beings.

For a while I had given up on the rather tedious job of navigating through the tall grass. I had pleasantly settled myself upon a fallen log. Something I had prodded and viciously struck with a stick to ensure nothing was nestled in. I reached into the contents of the basket, and to my at most delight was not disappointed. Nan had packed those chicken and turkey sandwichs that were absolutely to die for. She had neatly topped it off with some plum cake and a bottle of sweet watermelon juice. I was still stuffed from lunch, and so conveniently nibbled on some of the plum cake while I took occasional sips of the melon juice. 

After a while I'd stopped my hearty munching to listen to the sounds of the grove. Quite comforting and nerve wrecking at the same time. From a distance I could here the weird cat like meows of peacocks and peahens. The occasional humming of a bird or the murmur of an unidentifiable creature. But other than that, the grove remained eerily silent.

For this reason I was scared out of my whits when I heard a sharp whining from the distance. It was those that could have easily been a pup's. Another much louder whining proved my case. It was one of those piercing cries I've heard puppies make when their hungry. The kind that shatters your heart and sends an uncomfortable shiver up your spine. Mum had often times warned me that I could be quite irrational when it came to helpless animals. She'd given a mighty earful when I had rescued a puppy down the road, barely missing an incoming laury.

For this reason I hesitated. Convincing myself that perhaps the mother dog was some where nearbye. But then again I should have heard the least of a bark or a low howl to signal her presence. My leg shook restlessly at my side. It often times did when I was at the climax of making a very confusing decision. Finally cursing at the skies and promising my mother that I was only going to take a peek, I silently make my way through the grass.

The whining was hard to locate. At times it was far out of reach. Yet other times it seemed like it was along the next turn. The grove seemed to be playing a cruel trick on me. And to my utter horror, I ventured further and further form the main path. After much thinking and contemplating I decided to create markers of my own. I could be irrational at times, but I'd like to think I wasn't as daft as I let on. 

I tied my slipper around the hanging root of a banyan tree. The bright red straps in contrast to the dull muddy brown and murky green. I saved the other one for when I made a last minute turn. The turn was fairly recognisable, given the large mango tree nestled in the nook. I promised myself to bring back a few home when I made my way back. If I made my way back, corrected an impulsive part of me. And I knew if I turned back I'd be tempted to return.

To my utter delight the whining had grown so loud that I was fairly certain I was closing in on the location. But to my utter dislike, this part of the grove screamed 'stay way'. There were more thorny bushes here than I'd seen in a life time. Their silver coats shimmering faintly in the meagre sunlight. And just like that I made my form as small as possible. Chastising the impulsive part of my brain for tempting to stick a thorn through my finger for the heck of it.

The basket also became rather too unflexible for certain nooks and narrow paths that I'd find myself carrying it above my head at the best of times. It had unnerved me slightly when the whining had died down. And without it I felt blinder than a deaf bat. My whole body trembled with the warnings of my mother. Her clever mouth advicing me on the countless kidnap victims who were as witless as I was when it came to situations like this. Just for my sake I'd wish beyond all measure that the universe wasn't intent on proving her right.

I can't manage to call for help this deep in the wood either I think with a wince. Maybe I didn't think this through as thoroughly as I'd thought, I think sourly. 

I wander a little distance further, small measured steps at a time. My bare feet don't make much noise, but my heavy breathing can more than make up for it. My ventures prove fruitfull when the grass starts to thin, and I consider its not a total loss. 

The scent hits me before I see it. the carefully measured sweetness of something that cannot definitely be anything other than a patch of flowers. The smell becomes more lingering as I advance closer— a distinctly identifiable scent. To my utter delight, my senses are attacked by the most lavicious sight I've ever seen in my life. A burst of color in all this green and brown that it stings my eye for a second. 

The roses I've come across were never this beautiful. Every shade of red, white, pink, purple and blue. They were uncharacteristically larger and heavy pettled. Droplets of dew settled on top like ornaments. I regretted beyond measure that I hadn't taken a camera with me. To capture this memory as it was, for I know my mind will easily change the delicate details of few. I keep wanting to touch and smell, hop from one to the other like how the many butterflies are doing now. 

Their multi-colored wings fluttering from one flower to the next, and dancing among themselves. I'm fairly certain they've never had many visitors, I doubt there were even a few. Because they don't seem to fear my presence, rather linger longer as of curiosity. To my utmost delight, one rather vibrantly blue colored butterfly settles on the front of my shirt, while a few settle on top of my wooden basket. 

I carefully nudge the butterfly onto my finger, bringing it close to examine. Its antenna twitch, its wings fluttering for a second as it sits on my nose. I hold my breath, fixing my eyes in an odd angle to see it. After a few seconds it flutters off. 

I'm full of soft touches of leaves and the petals, taking care not to brush against the strangely large thorns. I lean to smell a few, choosing to touch others, or simply see the dance of the delicately winged insects.

For some reason it felt like this particular part of the grove was a small piece of spring frozen in the midst of winter.

For a while I'm distracted by these regards that when I stumble further through the thickets I don't notice the very obvious contrast of color in the bright green grass. Some of the bushes look like someone fell through them, and I don't watch where I'm going before I step onto a fallen thorny stem.

I yelp unceremoniously, falling on my back, merely missing the blood red roses. The fall I imagine made a rather disturbing sound in this sacred place and I'm snapped out of my mulling by a deep feral growl. 

I cannot imagine what gave me the strength to pounce away from my current location, but I'm quite confident the nerves helped.

Everything I've eaten has fallen uncomfortably to the pit of my stomach. All i imagine is now a disgusting goup of swirling mess in the pit of my stomach. I've seemed to swallow my voice as well. The only sound from the deep hammering of my heart against my ribs, the uncomfortable thrumming of blood through my veins and the foreign growl that has all my nerves on edge. 

I mentally slap myself for my stupidity for letting myself become lax in the most dangerous parts of the grove. And also for the fact that if I was seeing where I was going, I would have most definitely not missed the black fur of the canine currently snapping at me.