At the Sunset Monsoon

Friday 22 March 2013 - Filed under Squibs

It was long sunset, and the wind was high. The sound from the drezo grove was a vast, encompassing sussuration, at once loud and subtle, and gently modulating in a slow oscillation. Sprinkled in the sound was the pealing of childish laughter. Simone pulled herself from her bitshifting and went to the side window.

Although the monsoon cowling blocked her left-hand view, the rest was enough to tell the tale. The large windlimbs of the nearest drezo were lined with children, the larger close to the trunk, the smaller clinging to the outer segments. As the windlimb slowly oared in the sunset monsoon, the children swayed and whooped with each ponderous dip and backsnap. Some of the more daring attempted to ride the limb without handholds, surfing against both the windstream and the shifting of the drezo. Some of the less fortunate were picking themselves up from the thick sentinel ivy beneath the windlimb, scrambling for the trunk and shaking leaves out of their hair.

Simone had to shout to be heard over the wind, but her tone was not angry. “Don’t ride too long, dzichi,” she called, and several heads snapped in surprise toward the house, some guilty, others defiant. She smiled and continued, “They can take it for a while, but I won’t have you disrupting the harvest. If not you’ll all have to bring six liters from the store to replace my lost oils.” Some laughed, others just smiled. Several waved, and continued their surfing. One young boy cupped his hands to his lips and shouted, “I’ll be here to help you with the jugs, Babsa!”

Simone nodded and laughed herself. She went back to her bitshifting, remembering the times she herself had ridden the drezo in the sunset monsoon, and her uncles chasing her from these very same groves.

2013-03-22  »  Edward Semblance