Eye of a Storm

 
On the first death anniversary of B2, the greatest cat I’ve known…
 

The storm brewing in the sky halted its charge midway. It retreated abruptly, with respect writ large on its face, seemingsffvdly to give way to its more subtle and potent counterpart on the earth, which the inchoate sapling to the grandest tree didn’t brace up to face, but welcomed with grace.

For, rather than jeopardy to their existence, this terrestrial storm had been their protector for more than a decade. For more than a decade this storm had caused a sensation, lighting up the forums he passed through with great volts of current, being sensational at every attendance, never failing to impress and always succeeding in creating a flutter.

I must tell you that this storm was far removed from the kind that occurs in a tea cup, kettle or any other kitchen utensil, but rather persistently during the crepuscular hours in and out of the north-western periphery of a national park. And nor was its calm, as it usually is with other storms, restricted to the period immediately preceding its arrival, its very nature being based on serenity and firmly rooted in the tenets of composure.

But its powers were revealed when a singular phenomenon occurred, which was an opening of its eye.

Said to have roughly the same fiery intensity as Lord Shiva’s third, the eye of this storm when at any given time beamed at a subject could move not merely mountains but that most obdurate species of all thick-skinned types who scales them, alias the human mind.

The storm accomplished this unlikely feat through also a potent ensemble of unapologetic chutzpah, clarity of manner and an unwavering self-assurance about its dominance, all laced with an inescapable tinge of endearing simplicity.

At its best, which was a state it was always at, the storm was known to empty the thinker of all his attic’s contents, encourage the heart to pump frenetically, promote the flow of adrenaline, strain the nerves to their tautest and sweep the ground off a stunned onlooker’s feet, allegorically, all during a mere fleeting passage from geological coordinates A to B.

When the eye opened, things standing in its way – mostly vehicles bearing voyeurs – could be caused with polite firmness to make way without any of the fierce upheaval that other storms resort to.

 
This storm was a great gentleman.

And thus, the aftermath of its occurrence comprised no wreck or widespread devastation but only hordes of bystanders – some emitting strident shrieks, some petrified beings coughing alarms out hoarse and then some throbbing with awe and an insatiable hunger to have more of it, akin to that of a ravenous pack of bloodhounds.

I, being one of them when on that morning the storm hit the road again, ceased feeling my knees tremble only when I returned to the room and put my feet up.
 
For what I had entered through a gap in a termite mound was the very Eye of this Storm.

 
 

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