Straws

I  am walking through a dull lifeless plain. I have reached here after braving a turbulent storm.  Out of nowhere a single piece of straw comes flying by on the breeze that has picked up suddenly. I look at the straw and try to ignore it. But it persists in my field of vision. And the more I see it, the greater the urge to build my little nest.

I reach for that piece of straw. It comes tantalisingly close. I hold to it. I have caught it! It is a new beginning. And I suddenly feel hopeful of a new start. I hold on to that little piece of straw for dear life.

The breeze has now picked up. My straw seems to have a life of its own. It flutters out of my grasp. But I grab hold once more. As I clutch at that little straw flying about in the wind, hoping that it will help me build my home, the wind plays pitch and toss once more. And there…my little piece of straw has flown just out of my reach. And with it, my hopes of building my little arbour fly away too.

I wail. I cry. I nearly give up. I mourn the loss of my little piece of straw. And then what do I see when I dry my eyes? My little piece of straw is still fluttering in the wind. It floats on a thermal, it dances in the breeze. It is within my field of vision and yet just out of my reach.

Shall I be presumptuous enough to believe that it was meant for me? Or should I view it as a symbol of Hope that there will be an entire bale of straw for me to rest on just a little way further? Or should I just think of it as a reminder that clutching at straws, no matter how small, will one day help me gather enough to build a home?

I don’t know what to make of it.

But for now, I will clutch at straws. And one day I may have enough to rest my head on and dream happy dreams.