As a season, spring is truly regal. Much awaited, too. Spring came to this country a few days ago. Not Zahir Raihan’s “Another February.” In July.
Spring comes. With it comes a wave of hope. Birds begin their chorus, dreaming of new days. How many can bear that chirping? You can start weaving dreams in spring, but to make those dreams real, to catch the fragrance of autumn, you must be resolute.
When spring comes, the nor’wester will follow two days later. Those who only dream while sleeping can no longer dream after the nor’wester. After the stormy winds and flashes of lightning, those spring-cuckoos are nowhere to be found. Autumn is still far away. In the meantime, nature is busy with tall tales. As if autumn is right in their hands, almost here. On one side, devastation from flash floods; on the other, their fictional “autumn” stories. Those who have never thought about nature are easy to feed tall tales. They’ll stay engrossed in stories while the storytellers use those naive dreamers as pawns in a game of chess.
In the end, autumn will come to the lives of those storytellers, while we’ll shiver in winter like homeless insects.
If you don’t know how to overcome so much adversity, if you don’t keep your eyes and ears open, how will autumn come after spring? Autumn is not just for dreamers.