A landscape in the morning

Her soft humming woke me up.

 She lay there, in all her nakedness, exposing her true form to the world, so raw, so fierce. You could almost feel the battle between the sun and the moon. Fighting over who would win her.  Who she would resemble. The cold, aggressive moon or the warm, dazzling sun.

You could see the struggle she was facing, yet, not for one second, was she lost.

But the power the two rivals had over her was nowhere close to the command she had over me.

Without saying a word, her beauty compelled me to have a brush at hand and a canvas in front of me. Of course, no pigment on my palette could do justice to her splendor. But watching her there, almost as if she was posing for me, radiating her glory, I did the only thing I knew ; I painted.

As time passed, I could see the sun winning the combat as the moon resided into its chambers, far away from the horizon, with a sure promise to coming back. The sunlight bounced off of her perfectly defined curves, glazing her, intensifying her beauty.

Her humming was now stronger, almost as if she were angry at being conquered, at being a trophy. So much so that grew wild with every second that passed. Or maybe it was the moon that was playing its wicked games from over the horizon. Whatever the case, she behaved like a typical moody girl now. Oscillating between calm excited composed and chaotic. The only thing constant about her was her unpredictability. Her temper changed so often it was hard to keep up. The only thing on my canvas was an anarchy of hues. A mess.

A mess I love.

Ofcourse she doesn’t know me. But I think somewhere deep down, she loves me too. Always calling out to me and posing as my muse as I paint her a different shade everyday. Appreciating my appreciation. Devouring the attention.

 How much more of a woman could she be, the fierce and ravishing deep blue sea?