Trail of Paws and Petalsa

By Baishnabi Rajnandini Bora

Just like the falling leaves, like water weaving through a stream, like trees swaying in the wind, like the breeze fluttering my window’s curtains — I ache to be free. Free from walls that press too close, from clocks that never slow, from books that whisper who I should be. I long to dance to nature’s rhythm, where the rain will spin with me and birds will out-sing the noise in my head.

A tender presence circles close, paws threading through the hush of the field.

Goldie, my quiet wish. Light paws in a world only I can see. A wagging tail in the wind, ears flicking at secrets only we hear. Never really here, but always beside me — in the rustle of leaves, in the hush of lonely afternoons. Goldie lingers, gentle and loyal, where freedom hides and the world softens.

The sky will flush pink, clouds bruised with purple. Flowers will bloom like cherries on forgotten cakes, and Goldie and I will slip away — far from this bustling town, far from tired pages and voices that weigh too much.

The grip of silent scoldings and unwritten laws loosens behind me, while Goldie runs ahead — into a world where the grass is soft, the air is wide, and no one tells me who to become.

Strangers will walk beside us — wanderers like me, chasing skies where rules lose their way. We’ll trade quiet stories and bursts of laughter, gathering memories lighter than any school bell, sweeter than words we’ve left behind.

The stream will cool my feet, reminding me how far there is to go. But with Goldie at my side, glancing back with playful eyes, I will follow — toward a place where peace lingers, waiting just beyond the trees.

By Baishnabi Rajnandini Bora