About Them

I'm a child of the seasons. The elements are my best friends.

The rain, and the rain alone, knows all my secrets. It gathers in my palm and slips out of my fingers, tinkling like a musical note. It runs playfully down my nose and bounces off my cheeks. It tickles the soles of my feet as I stomp recklessly, deliberately into puddles. It comes when it wants to, never mind the calendar - an unpredictability that I adore. It laughs and whispers and cleanses, keeps time as I dance in uncompromised freedom. It leaves me whole and alive.

The wind shares my wanderlust. It unravels memories and makes promises. It throws windows open and shut. It blows away the dust and brings stray petals and blades of grass in. The wind is chatty and communicative. It reads my mind and cackles in delight at foolish ideas, reprimands me when I'm stupid, sighs meditatively at profundity, and has made a ritual out of its goodbye hugs.

The sky is my canvas, my very own book, my own silver screen. It indulges my fancies and whims, allowing me to trace faces, trees and giant koalas among its clouds, to wink back cheekily at the stars that peer out every night. On stormy days, when enormous blue-grey and black clouds billow by, it hurries them along sometimes, so that the moon is visible to me. And it remains there, faithful to its promise as only a best buddy can be, blue and endless and full of love.

The sun knows its way around my moods. It gets ever so slightly warmer when I'm shivering; just a teeny bit milder when I am hot and bothered. It plays tricks on me and gets away with all of them, because it knows it is one of my weaknesses. Trust a best pal to be so affectionately annoying. I don't remember ever having wished for anything that the sun didn't grant. I don't know of anyone else who blends so much power with such gentleness.

And the earth...the earth grounds me, allows me to spread my roots even as it encourages me to explore. It is warm and loving and stable. It squishes between my toes when the rain comes visiting...the rain lingers on in that invigorating smell long after it has gone. It blows playfully into my hair when the breeze drops in. It takes inordinate delight in baking under the sun and making it impossible for me to move barefoot in my own garden. It allows me to nestle, to roam free.

And that is why this time of the year, when my best friends congregate as one season gives way to another, owns me completely. I belong to it, no questions asked. I belong to the musky mornings, the golden afternoons and the coffee-and-cinnamon-flavoured evenings. To the fresh green leaves making a tentative appearance on every branch, and as much to the golden-brown ones underfoot. To the sky, still choosing between baby-blue and slate. To spring, poking its head around the door, almost as if to ask, Is it time yet? And to winter, packing up after an especially fierce visit. To the summer that has probably begun to stir, the monsoon that isn't due for another four months, and the autumn that knows it can afford to rest the easiest.

If it were physically possible, I would give them all a gigantic bear hug.