Jungle in My Window
It was my first night in Pohnpei, known as the garden island, when I heard them. At first, I thought that I was just jet lagged and my brain played tricks on me. It was in the middle of the night in my new home for the next couple of years when I heard a knock from my window.
No kidding, I did hear a knock and not just any ordinary knock, it was a succession of knocks, then a pause.
I opened my eyes and it was still dark. So, I checked the time and it was around two in the morning. I heard a scratching noise from the wall outside the air conditioning unit. I asked myself, “Could it be?”
Then all of a sudden I pictured the shadows from behind my blinds coming alive, moving to and fro under the brilliant moonlit night. There was an echo somewhere in that moment that only the wild imagination of my mind set forth and acknowledged.
I got up and opened the blinds just in time when I heard a knock once again.
There were only branches and leaves and twigs and shadows that danced unmindful of my candid inquiry. The jungle in my window came alive that night. It greeted as if to welcome me in my transient home.
I curled up under my blanket with the lullaby of the swooshing melody of the wind and the gentle rhythm of the knocking of the branches on the other side of my window.