The Leaving.

The morning air was cold and grey, but in a familiar kind of way, like the cool touch of a finger on a cheek in the morning. The otherwise monotonous air is ripped by the harsh calls of mynahs, those inconsiderate birds.

Suddenly, a brief wash of water splashes out into the nearby drain with a smack and a clatter, shaming the mynahs into silence. They flee from around me as the water runs it's course. But as soon as the streaming flow has slapped its way down, it stops moments later, leaving ripples and mossy mouldy cement damp and ever thirsting. All is silent. Dark birds fly overhead in straggly branches. The leaves are silent on their branches; there is no wind that moves them.

Scattered around my feet are white-winged seeds. Pale they are, and pointlessly fall on hard black road. Unless some friendly breeze disperses them to more hospitable ground, their purposes will be in vain. Yet knowing the laws of nature they are but collateral damage.

A sharp caw breaks the quiet veil that had previously settled. A crow lurks unseen. I eye a tall clump of greenery. It's in there, somewhere. It caws again, a grating, black noise. A distant rumbling hum touches the edge of my consciousness. I look up: it's time to go.