An April Wind

I miss the winds of the mountains. They have their own sing song like quality. Someone who used to roam them with me, said that they miss it scratching their face. Yes it is like that. Harsh and soft at the same time. Like a tuneless memory but one that has so much impact that you seldom dare and forget it.

I remember floating down different mountain sides. From Murree to Abbottabad, from Nathiagali to Bhourbon. Looking at little wooden churches, flavored foods with thier bland tastes, freezing and drinking the best coffee at two a.m every morning for so many mornings. And most of all lying back on the grass on a hill side at Patiata and gazing up at trees so tall, that you want to spin away into the skies when you look at the them.

Sometimes a lifetime of strange adventures happens in so quick a flash that you barely percieve it when it happens. It is only in the minutes and the hours of many passing days, months and years that the reality of what happened comes home and hits you. And then you relive the memories again slowly, painfully and perhaps more appreciatively.

I miss my mountains. They had their own winds. And somewhere a long time ago, in an April of a long time ago, I remember sitting on a bench at PC Bhourbon, and looking out in the yonder at a God with my soulmate. A memory that will last me a lifetime and long after my lifetime is gone.......