Precious Pearls

It was a fresh Wednesday. I felt odd. I mean, even being a bright student and a notable presence in the high school class, I felt some hang which tempted me to be away from the class. I didn’t know why. And silence was all over there. It was just 9 am, when my mother and I were alone at the home. We moved out of the house after a simple breakfast for getting some grass for the cattle. We went on with the job in the farm next to our‘s. The sun was just leaving the silver rays over the green valley.

Down the hill, then, a fat man appeared asking what we were doing with the plants. When he got our face, unexpectedly these words whooshed to our ears, “Hey, there was a phone message. Your grandmother passed away this morning…!”

Oh God! I took in the fact with all the pain and sense of loss. No tear fell down from my eyes. And nature did it for me in that afternoon like never before. Then like the raindrops the whole village came to home following the pale, unpleasantly cold body of my ever best mentor. She made a lot of effort to keep me a boy who still feels the warmth of her love and turns tearful while typing in this.

Memories are precious pearls; neither can be purchased, nor sold out, and sometimes their entire glaze cannot be showcased.