Intruder in Wonderland

I do not know where it was. I cannot recollect when it happened.

Oddly enough, a part of me is happy that I do not remember the details. Another part of me is trying hard to guess them.

I was trotting up the mountain path. The mist was gliding along, hugging the luxuriant slopes in its heavenward gait. I found myself fluxed by the mist: 'practically inside a cloud', i fancied... In a matter of seconds, the whole valley disappeared from view...

Looking around in the mist, I couldn't discern much from the faint silhouettes shimmering a few yards away. They appeared to be signalling something. Directions, perhaps. I took them to be either shrubs or rocks, and kept walking. It felt insanely satisfying. Tiny droplets of water be-dewed me as i ambled along.

Mists are true travelers. They do not plan ahead. Nor do they know of their destination. They listen to the Wind when it grows powerful. They hover around mountains, at times making them look beautiful. This mist, in particular, was in no obvious hurry. Not wanting to miss out on any more views of the valley, I decided to halt and reclined upon a smooth rock. I closed my eyes and felt myself dissolving into the mist.

Percussion.. Rhythmic strokes.. Somewhere in the distance. I stirred slowly from sleep. The rhythmic strokes started again: the sound that a sharp beak makes when it caves in into a hardwood tree. Ah! I'd woken up to the melody of a woodpecker at its day's work. I opened my eyes and scanned the place. The mist had sailed on.

There was not even a suggestion of the mountain path anywhere in the vicinity. I must've strayed off a long way. I discovered that I was near the edge of a mountain. Obviously intrigued, i walked towards the edge and peered down.

If i describe what met my eyes as merely hair-raising, heart-stopping or spine-tingling, I should be punished. It was nothing less than spiritually uplifting!

Flowers: Hundreds and Thousands of them!

Theme: Fragrance and Colour!

Artist: He who created the World.. who left this part of it unknown to Man.. and who momentarily lost vigil: when a man wandered into His finest piece of art, hiding under a cloak in the shape of a mist.

The mist had left pearls on their merry petals. These flowers had seen nothing of the world.. and the world had seen nothing of them.. If ignorance was bliss, it was only theirs.. The ponderer somewhere in me felt troubled.. For whom do these flowers blossom everyday? Apart from the mist, wind and rain, who appreciates their beauty? Why did God even create them, only to keep them a secret unknown to the world? For years and years, the flowers must've bloomed everyday, not knowing how wonderfully charming they are, not knowing that a world of men exists, that a few of these men would admire them endlessly. Why did God have to rob us both of what we deserve?

Thomas Gray's legendary lines came to my mind:

'Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.'

Perhaps He did it for a reason. Midas, as we know, turned everything he touched into gold. Maybe Midas is none other than Man himself.. and just like Midas' own daughter who turned to gold upon his touch.. he ends up losing even those things he holds close to his heart, for Gold.. for materialistic gain and a queer pleasure only Man can identify with..

Perhaps many more such valleys exist, unknown to us.. The more unknown they are, the better..