A car park with a solitary
groaning tree. Not the most magnificent specimen of it's kind this one. It oddly
looks forlorn and lonely.
Forbiddingly derelict, it labours under the yoke and
choke of dust; urging by it's mere sight to be left in peace. A closer look
would probably reveal that it's yearning, earnestly thirsting for water, yet
with little success. Not too green a space I suppose.
I walk on. I come to a
bridge. Down below a yawning artificial river trickles by. It is as if it is ashamed
to be, for it's raison d'être, the
rainy season, has come and gone.
The fury of this residential drainage
contraption, the pride and gusto of it's torrential flow, has long since
petered out. Utterly weathered dry to little more than muddy broth.
The bridge
above though no bigger than a modest footpath, stands imperiously - domineering
and impetuous - laughing down at the wiggly smudge of a river that occasionally
licks it’s foundations.
Besides these two antagonists, right there on the river
side, a welcome shock of exuberance resonates. Lush, green grass grows
wistfully, waving to all caring passersby, swaying with every gentle kiss and whisper
of the wind.
Without a care in the world
and tucked within the grass, unseemly weeds burst forth with boastful flourish. Undisturbed by either grazing herds or
diligent mowers, they too grow joyously and resplendent.
But alas! Modesty has
no room on the river bank. Abundantly nourished the plants too seem to proclaim
their ascendancy on the dying dehydrated river. Yet these are no more than mere weed and rogue
grass. They are unwanted, besieged and utterly insignificant in this wilderness
of residential flats. This is green space too - I suppose.
Detached by the daily runs
for the mundane exigencies of existence, I pretend I have no relation to these
green blots and their daily play for survival. I own not the landscape plants
nor do I plant the wily weeds which grow of their own accord.
Road side bush and woefully ignored decorative
plants, is what I dourly enjoy and have for green space.
M Wycliff,
Nairobi.
PS: This incomplete piece of writing was actually something written out of context - I was meant to write something completely different. Instead of killing (by deleting) this orphan article of mine - am giving it transcendent immortality in this here humble blog.
