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The sky is dim and clear, colored in the mix of purple and gray that signifies the setting of the sun and the awakening of the moon. The air on my face is crisp, sort of like the fall wind I remember. I reminisce of October in Virginia, with colored oak leaves littering the ground, but the empty sand I see in front of me tells me that this isn't the same wind, isn't the same place. As the breeze passes over my warm cheek, I feel that it is thick with dust, tinged with the smell of sheep and diesel.
The marble of the porch is cold beneath my stockinged feet. I tuck my legs underneath my body as I sit in our standard-issue white plastic chair, broken on one side, and look at the brickwork fence at the edge of our yard. A white house to the right, a white house to the left. I am surrounded by the clean beauty of sandstone and marble homes, like statues in the dusky evening. I see the remains of a bedouin's fire, smoldering in the empty lot behind the fence. I am again reminded that this isn't my home, but a foreign land.
Suddenly, from the neighboring hills, I begin to hear the strains of a melody. One begins with purpose, and another follows with the repose common with a lullaby. Soon, the haunting melody echoes through the hills, as each mosque takes on the call. The chants reach my ears as an intertwined symphony, harmonies of similar tones sung in rounds, one creating the space for another as the Imams take pause.
When the prayer is over, the notes hang in the air for several minutes before the wind carries them away. As the air clears, I shift in my chair. A small drop of water, a single tear, wets my cheek. The beauty of the evening has enshrouded my being, warming the depths of my soul and bringing me home. This beautiful place, foreign as it is, is home. And will be forever home in my heart.
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This is Challenge #9 from {W}rite of Passage. Here are the others who have joined in:
2 comments:
Wonderful descriptive language - I felt like I could have been sitting right there with you. So true, also, that our idea of "home" can change and be a new comfort we had not expected. Great work!
Beautiful choice of words. Ethereal. Poetic and yet transports me to that moment. I can almost hear the sounds even though I have no idea what they sound like. They do say home is where the heart is. Sounds like it's true.
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