I love wilderness. The raw and the untamed. The kiss of the primordial. Never simple. Never forceful. Yet intriguing. And mysterious. This morning, I smelt pure bliss once again. I saw a wildflower. Mustard-seed sized. Pristine. Untouched. The little one was singing at the top of its voice. A paean to the Sun. A breezy, classic paean. I heard the song and smiled. It smiled back and whispered into my ears, “I’m born of the Sun. So are you. But never tell this to anyone. It’s a secret that’s been kept for centuries. It’s the secret of the black holes”. It hushed and smiled. Innocence. Bliss. Infinity.
(The little flower knew we humans don’t keep secrets. Else, it wouldn’t have chosen me for this secret. Wink.)
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