Wichita: The Alphabets of the Lake

The smell of the duck's feathers reached my senses, even before the moon met the sun for one last time before going to sleep. There is something in the sky of Wichita, some playful erotica, which perhaps, has considered me as a prop... and maybe, someday, the right words will kiss me to write about them. But today is not that day. It is just one of those lazy mornings when I sit idly, with the laptop, under the shade of the pine tree, watching the grasses of the lush green meadow in front of me as they conspire with the wind to torment the drought- ridden heart of the blue lake. Life stands still here in Wichita, the lake revealing the sanguine stillness in its crystal clear mirror. It all starts with the fallen leaf of a pine tree, a brown one, lying on the soft green carpet, slowly moving with the wind, sometimes crawling, sometimes walking, like a baby learning to walk and then , in an unknown sunset, she drinks the waters of the lake. She slips through the slope and sees the reflection of herself on the ripples, this time , a grown one , yet blurred as the mischievous winds play with the disheveled hair of the ripples, a blur that invokes that dormant search.... the search for her root.

The ford is covered with the beads of feathers, shed by the ducks, in an unknown time, when nobody noticed them or perhaps, it was a deliberate clandestine air, created by them, an act to conceal some mystery which the residents of East Hampton Estates Apartment are not aware of. One... two...three...four...five... quack ! Quack! Quack! There goes the ducks, the mommy duck in the front followed by her children. The last one is weak, doesn't know how to swim or fly well. However, she can’t be helped. She has to attain her own strength, which grows with every situation, like the buzzing light of the glowworm which increases with the changing color of the dark night. Like the smithereens of clouds, which float in the blue sky across the green horizon, they swim, play and grow in the waters of the lake, singing in a melodious disharmony, accompanied by the birds and fish.

The wind brings the news of the flowing Arkansas but the lake does not seek to dry up. It is her stagnancy that rotates the cycle of lives of those she has given shelter to.... the ducks... the fish.. the birds... the snakes and above all, the people of East Hampton Estates who come here for a walk, perhaps alone, like me, to find answers hidden beneath the apparent blue of the lake, the blue which borrows its white from the sky. I am just a mere prop in their erotica, my rambling sentences craving to get laid in their kisses or perhaps something more........ But today is not a day to write; the drowsiness of being felt by the lake overshadows the words; the cold, yet burning desire, seeps through my nascent words. It tickles the flowing letters, the remnants of the older ones I have been preserving.