Knocking Down the Pins

As I moved through my late teens and twenties quite a few pins were encountered. They presented themselves in many forms with varying degrees of boldness. Some were casual and ephemeral fascinations. Some were intrusive like a sudden thunderstorm and lingered like a bad headache. Others were translucent like the morning dew on the Bartica green hillside, a suspension of guileless, gentle, watery beauty which froze my being in a state of bliss and winsome wonder. But like the dew, it came every morning, and dissipated as soon as the sun declared its dominance.

There was even one pin who desalinated me like a mangrove tree. A bona-fide genius full of spots and wrinkles, and emotions more tumultuous than the Atlantic Ocean escaping from the wind. A modern David of sorts, fighting the Goliath of traditions and uncontrollable passions.

One was a gentle, giant pin which could be seen from a 1000 miles away. One more dazzling than the alizarin crimson sun. One more fragrant than jasmines in April, and warmer than a lone smile in winter. One who was the steady light in a dark mine of coal and methane. One who suffered because of a series of errors.

Another was like the little Engine who could; on a mission to be.

Another was like the Tin Woodman who was on a mission to obtain a heart, only to find out one was there all along.

And so forth and so on.

These pins have stood erect for years; forming their own brick walls. An impedance of sorts.

But this year -- one by one they are being knocked down by some mysterious bowler. Some surgeon is severing each artery, and excising the tumors.