The Lone Airplane

A short excerpt from a story which is under process..

After the air strip was closed down, there lay a single airplane in these desolate fields for the longest time.. As all the other planes were being cleared out, this one in particular was left behind for some reason. It was a bit of a mystery.. And it was so symbolic of so many things. A lone place, the quiet shepherding out of the other planes..

This one lay there in stillness, motionless, almost poetic. That’s the thing about stuff that’s poetic, sometimes you hate the guts of it, it goes beyond logic. This single aircraft near the rustic old cabin, it was like a place where things came to decay, die and allow a slow causal and casual transition to things. And yet new life was born from there, that was for sure. Where death IS, new life is also always born.

There was a small little lake behind the airstrip and a bit further out were paddy fields.. It was a rocky, stony path down, disheveled in their formation, almost felt like nature wanted to figure out a way, where there wasn’t one.

Maybe it was this that drew Ronnie to the place, the sense of total desolation and yet an inherent quiet aliveness about it. Ronnie spent hours, days and months by himself, just being by the water. They say that water has the quality of healing about it, particularly one which comes from the well spring of the core itself.

He’d often sit on a tall rock, next to the water with the trees swaying in the background, in his whitish jeans and a regular medium size shirt. He wasn’t exactly skinny but neither was he fat, he was what most people would say average built. With his greyish hair, he’d sometimes have ear phones plugged in and keep listening to some kind of music, what he listened to was anybody’s guess.. Although he had occasionally mentioned to the local folk ( or did they pry and find out themselves?) that he was listening to Frank Sinatra’s Noel a lot,,

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