A walk in the clouds

A walk in the clouds
By Lee Tai Wah
Wednesday April 29, 2009

THE year was 1983. I was among a group of students up in Cameron Highlands to study the habitat of the Bluebottle fly at the farming village of Kampung Raja. We stayed the night in a small town called Brinchang. It was a cold night and I woke up early the next morning to answer nature’s call. As I gazed out of the window, I saw a thick white cloud enveloping the whole valley.

I quickly put on my shoes and jacket, and stepped out. The street was deserted and all was quiet as the whole town continued to slumber. Even the cicadas and birds were quiet, as if frozen by the cold.

I walked through the thick, white mist to the other end of town, and finally took a seat in a small park in the centre of the town. The branches of the trees around me were bowed down and laden with water, and the dewdrops on the leaves looked like pretty white pearls in the early morning light.

It was cold. It was wet. It was enchanting. The thick, white mists swirled around me in a slow dance and then slowly engulfed and held me in an embrace until we were one, and my senses were dulled into oblivion.

After what seemed an eternity, out of the corner of my eye, I spied the sun’s rays creeping stealthily into the valley.

“No! Stop! Don’t intrude! We don’t want you here!” I cried. However, slowly but relentlessly, the sun’s rays continued their intrusion, cutting a bright swathe in the misted valley as I watched helplessly.

My anguish mounted as it got nearer and nearer and as a sunbeam kissed me lightly on the cheek, I saw the cloud lift itself from the ground and slowly begin its ascent, floating past the tree-tops, up the hills towards the hilltops. As it reached the hilltops, it seemed to pause, reluctant to go.

Or maybe it was just saying goodbye. “No! Don’t go!” I cried for I knew it would never return. But the cloud went on its way to roam the four corners of the Earth, guided by the stars and steered by the winds.

Slowly, the world began to stir as I trudged wearily back to the hotel. The flowers began to gingerly lift their bowed heads to face the morning sunlight, the birds cleared their throats and began their morning song, the brook gurgled as it meandered its way through the town and smoke began to snake lazily out of the chimneys accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans as the cooks prepared breakfast. We left the mountains after breakfast that day.

One of these days, I am going to get myself a little cottage high up in the mountains. It will have a small garden where I shall plant flowers of all hues and I shall sit there, amongst my flowers, watching as the clouds dance lazily in the sky. And, on a cold morning, when the clouds decide to come down to play, I shall be waiting; waiting to walk amongst them once more. -- The Star.