by Jame See Yang, ETA ’20
The remnants of last night’s horror still linger. Large pools of water fill the uneven, cracked cement. The weather is hazy—the old willow tree barely visible. My All-Stars are stained with the earth as I trudge through the trenches. A streak of light peeks through the clouds as they shift, the sky still painted grey. The ground squelches with each step as I raise my lens to scan the war-torn area.
Shutter.
The field of tall grass has been trampled; the survivors pinned by heavy droplets. An array of petals color the stone path as I set forth towards my destination. The daisies have been shaken up by the wind—their hair plucked away. The roses are nothing but their core. The less fortunate ones lie in the grass among their petals, while the others crouch over to protect their buds. The dull grey filter washes their life away.
Shutter.
I continue onward over the hill and take a left at the fork. The sun’s warmth touches my back, and I turn to be greeted by a sliver of light. As the clouds pass by, I catch a glimpse of the blue behind them. Despite last night’s heavy rainfall, the meadow glimmers under the sunlight. My tracks come to a halt; I close my eyes and take in my surroundings. The fresh air fills my lungs, and the hint of sweetness fills my mind with ease. Unlike most neatly planted fields of tulips, hues of red, yellow and magenta scatter across the field. Some have their bulbs stretched open, whereas some hold their petals near and dear. The tulips stand proud, resisting the dewdrops that cling to them. Nevertheless, they are still saturated and lively. Their vibrancy shines through the grey filter and through the monsoon terror.
Shutter.
[Featured Photo by Lulu Johnson]