Night Thoughts from the Abode of Trees

The abode of trees -- that's what I called my hometown, in a poem I wrote as a teenager. And today I'm back to the place which had been the nursery of my adulthood dreams. 

The trees are no more of course, long crushed to the ground by lumbering tractors which had appeared one day, flattening the rubber estate, turning the playground of my childhood into housing estates for the newly prospered villagers, yearning for middle-class comforts.

Surprisingly, I could still hear the nocturnal insects, scattered descendants of the winged creatures that had been the companions of my pastoral youth.  Alas, those majestic trees are gone! The nocturnal choir has lost the sacred resonance of its cathedral!

I shall be back here more often, to find the remnants of my dreams, perhaps with the hope of rekindling some of the fire and passion which now lie smouldering beneath like peat fire. Yes, it is that reacquaintance of childhood which I wrote about here two weeks ago. And today is perhaps the beginning.

The birds that sing incessantly at dawn--I know they shall greet me with their cheery chirp again.  Those heavenly usherers of the resplendent sun, bursting forth with the pomp of a conquering force. May they blaze a path ahead for my forgotten dreams.

I've learned so much in my sojourn to the world out there. But now I'm back to share the tales and travails of my life's journey. How I had resisted the lure of the siren's song, and in my lowest ebb, I had found strength in the memory of my childhood companions--the birds, insects and trees, which I'm now returning to, like Odysseus falling back into Penelope's embrace.

I know, even in their absence, they had always been present, in faith and in spirit. And the quest had always been to return again and again, and again, to find new beginnings.