Giants in the Sky

(excerpt from my journal entry dated February 20, 2012, a Monday)

It had rained almost the whole night last night so when we woke up this morning, it was so cold and foggy.

I got up at around half past seven but then went back to bed again, then finally got up again before 8 because the slightest noise outside my room was keeping me from going back to sleep again.

It’s cloudy all over. If you have problems, this kind of weather would surely aggravate that.

I’ve always liked this kind of weather. It’s so different from the usual sunny weather we have here. Having this weather once in a while is exciting to me because it brings me to a stranger world, gloomy, and with the possibility of the unusual. It sparks the imagination somehow.

Just now, I’m thinking if Edgar Allan Poe or J.R.R. Tolkien preferred to write in this kind of weather. Perhaps they had a longing for something other than the gloom and the cold, and in their attempts at escape, they wrote and brought to life plots and characters that add color and make sense the dreary landscape.

In my head, I now hear Isao Tomita’s version of Claude Debussy’s compositions. Now, that is otherworldly.

Listening to “Reverie,” I can picture myself taking a solitary walk on a deserted street lined with trees and grass on a day just like this, except darker and more still. It had just rained, and another downpour threatens.

And up in the sky, celestial bodies move about beyond the floating dark clouds, in between which the dark of outer space is seen, and the celestial bodies tingle as they twinkle in gold and silver colors. That would make your heart thump wildly, perhaps even get you scared, but then it is just as wonderful, being alone in the vastness of the dark and the stars, yet watched over by . . . I don’t know . . . whatever you imagine.

Giants? Winged giants.

There is a festival of some kind happening in the heavens, and the giants think no one can see them from down below because they think everyone has gone indoors because of the cold weather.

You can hear the giants sing and play their instruments. The child giants move playfully about and leave a trail of stardust that rings in your ears, while the bigger giants wear robes that swirl like the milky way.

I watch them in secret, awed, but afraid that should they see me, they would glare at me, and squish me with the tippestmost tip of their smallest finger. Or just to hear their voice in anger would probably make my heart beat so hard it would leap out of my chest.

But when they sang, they had the gentlest voices that spread and cover and ring across the universe. One would not want to distract them from their singing and make them roar instead. But then, that would not be the way they are.

Maybe they cared. But not enough to go into the intimacies and details of our existence. Or maybe they were equally amazed by us, yet not wanting us to see them, because we are so foolish we would not know what to do. We might do something that would prove detrimental either to them or to us. Or to our relationship.

Besides, what fun is there in watching us watching them? (Or perhaps being constantly on the lookout for them?)

Perhaps when we die, we’d get to know them. For real. For now, they just live in our fantasies.