A certain divinely beautiful moment presented itself when I looked out the window and found that it had ended raining at last after a relentless two days. The streets looked fresh and inviting. It was as if the nature had wiped everything clean in the wake of God’s unplanned visit that fine evening. Not particularly inspired by the chill outside, I ventured out with no clear agenda but to wander around and find a cozy spot in some solitary corner to pen a few lines or some interesting bit of light falling at an interesting angle on some interesting object to dabble-snap with my camera.
The sky looked blue cutting a sharp contrast to the scores and scores and scores of brick colored facades lining the streets on both sides. The air smelled fresh youth and with every step I was inching close to the Charles River which winds pretty close the hotel I am staying in. You couldn’t wait to see the sight of a River churning animatedly after 2 days of constant rain and although I knew it wouldn’t make much difference to the size of a River which is about to embrace the Atlantic a few miles down the line, the thought still excited me.
The Bridge on the Charles River. Immensity faces you. Immensity of space, of sky, of deep pink sunset, of the sun about the take a dip into the ocean. Air is too heavy with the smell of the River who is equally bubbly as me. I take out my camera, click a few snaps. Looks good. The pavements are washed clean and not a speck of dust rests anywhere. People are already out the door with their bikes, kids, pets or just by themselves. I decide to go off to the promenade which lines the river for a few miles ahead into the Boston city. You could see the entire sky lining from out here. This is where the artificial meets the natural. The violent river thumps into the concrete lining with an ageless rhythm, shimmers of setting sun beam into the glossy and tall sky lining.
Look Ahoy! People are already out into the River in their kayaks. Further ahead, I see small boats sailing their way back into the harbor-front where they will dust off their evening. With a few cans of beer down them in the nearby local bar they will have forgotten the toil of the day already. I wish I could finish my days like that. On a side note, these boats could be a notoriously difficult ride on harsh sunny days and could seriously impair your vision at an early age if you don’t use enough protective gear.
The marigold-lined promenade is now bare except a few passer-by joggers wired with their iPhones. I pass by Boston yacht club where a few elderly couple are relaxing with a book spread on their lap and a fat wine glass sitting beside them. Some small yachts are rocking and dancing to the tune of thumping waves. A distant roar of motorbike engine cuts through the silence. They are all probably heading towards the Boston commons area where they all have a bash at each other every now and then and so they might cheer at the prospect of being first amongst equals with other serious bikers rounding the park. It’s so uncanny that the roar of biker’s engine so reflects the rider’s age. I have seen very very few matured riders roaring their engines to show off their masculinity. To some serious bikers it might almost sound infantile to rev-up unnecessarily.
On a rather personal note, such casual walks by the rivers could sometime get really lonely and you could walk miles after miles with not a thought crossing your mind. I have personally never forced my self into a thought and it’s a special feeling when your mind gets a divine push or cosmic kick out of no where. I guess it was one of those moments.