BLUE
SKIES
Blue skies are calling to me. Amidst feathery clouds
and the eagles that are wheeling across the sky with reckless abandon.
Gust of wind are blowing up dust in billows and
little whirlwinds.
The sun strives to make an impression between the
bouts of calm when the wind has died down.
"My life is sometimes like a movie," My
friend Deno tells me. "People can't believe the things that happen to me,
like this time I was smoking and eating a burger on the rooftop, huko, seventh
floor then an eagle kujas and wants to Nyanganya me my burger bana!"
"So I just watched it come and then I smacked
it against the wall like, ni nini na wewe?!"
Memories cascading down in a scene bountiful with
remembrance.
Of the same weather spent growing up.
Just after the rains had gone and the sun had come
out and the moon was full at night.
Of evenings spent playing in the grass heedless of
the itching that could come with the shower.
Before a strict mother who checked to confirm that
you had not played 'passport.' Washing only the head, arms and feet.
Of the sun taking advantage of the calm between the
gusts of wind to compensate with a mean scorcher before the dry farts of wind
wiped it away.
Of the moon rising like a big yellow orb from behind
the hills until it rested on the crests. Proudly beaming for a few moments
before climbing away into the sky to become smaller and brighter.
Waking up at three in the morning to prepare for
school. Long creepy shadows in the waning moonlight that turned dark just
before the sun came out.
“It gets dark so that the witches can go home
without being seen,” my grandfather told me when I was young.
Now that I’m older, “don’t the witches get seen in
the moonlight?”
Now that I’m older and the wind is blowing grit into
my eyes. From the workmen beside the road who are toiling at beautifying Kisii town. Dig proper trenches and plant flowers.
When the rain went, the bats came. From Migori and Isebania. They fill the sky in broad
daylight, swarming and screeching helter skelter on the branches that are
burdened by their weight.
The town planners want to cut down the trees beside
the road, where the bats nest and drop their droppings on the passersby’s below.
Up above at enviable heights, Marabou storks are
lording over the skyline, streaks of grey and white plumage gliding easily, beautiful
at that great height.
Flume & Chet Faker/ Drop the game
@mossetti
