{"id":1068,"date":"2021-07-13T08:57:45","date_gmt":"2021-07-13T08:57:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ultrazaps.com\/terryblogg\/?p=1068"},"modified":"2021-07-13T08:57:45","modified_gmt":"2021-07-13T08:57:45","slug":"1068","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/2021\/07\/13\/1068\/","title":{"rendered":"Incounters 5 The Whistling Schoolboy_"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"cid:011801cb6777$b118c1f0$0100007f@xaviers\"<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Whistling Schoolboy<\/strong><\/p>\n

Dawn at a hill station. Monsoon dawn.<\/p>\n

It had been raining all through the night. Just now there\u00a0is a lull in the rhythmic pitter-patter rain\u00a0sounds that had\u00a0gently and persistently broken through\u00a0the semi-conscious shadows of\u00a0my sleep hours…<\/p>\n

Monsoon mornings at a hill station can be quite lazy and extended..<\/p>\n

Morning sounds.\u00a0Rush-hush breezes. Nature\u00a0 languorously waking up to another day.<\/p>\n

Quite suddenly I heard it.<\/p>\n

Like an unhesitant clear toned suggestion flowing its way into my\u00a0struggling consciousness.<\/p>\n

The Malabar thrush…affectionately known as the whistling schoolboy.<\/p>\n

A hush… more pitter-patter rain sounds. And then I heard it again. Four clear whistled notes. Then six….\u00a0then four…. five more….<\/p>\n

Changing patterns melodiously greeting\u00a0the new mist filled morning.<\/p>\n

I readied\u00a0myself\u00a0quickly and stepped out. I\u00a0had to get a glimpse of\u00a0this spirit minstrel. I had heard him on other trips to the hills. But I had never seen him before. I had tried, yes, I had tried.<\/p>\n

Gone in pursuit, listening… following… hoping to get a glimpse through the morning haze.<\/p>\n

This time I was determined not to give up\u00a0as I had given up earlier.<\/p>\n

In my\u00a0heart I had made friends with him. In my mind he had made friends with me. The whistling was all for me. Beckoning.. calling me to a tryst with other wonders.<\/p>\n

This time we were going to meet. I swore that to myself.<\/p>\n

So I tip-toed\u00a0my way through the mist. I walked noiselessly past the bushes searching through the nearby trees.<\/p>\n

I knew he was shy. So I was cautiously going to get as close to him as possible without letting him know.<\/p>\n

I would get\u00a0to see\u00a0him and\u00a0I would be happy.<\/p>\n

I moved stealthily towards the left. That was where the whistling seemed to come from. A pause in the clear toned notes\u00a0. I moved closer…<\/p>\n

A sudden flutter of wings fading into the distances away from me.<\/p>\n

Gone….I had not seen a thing…<\/p>\n

Then once again, further away to the right the patterned clear whistling sounds. I was not going to give up so easily. This was a game and I was willing to play it. So once again I tiptoed my way in stealthy pursuit. Closer and closer. A dry twig snaps under my feet.<\/p>\n

And once again a sudden flutter of wings and distances.<\/p>\n

I still had not seen him. I still did not know what he looked like.<\/p>\n

It happened again and yet again. The inviting clear-toned whistling…The search.. the cautious hush\u00a0pursuit…The hurrying flutter of wings and then silence…<\/p>\n

Much of the morning had passed by and I was breathless and exhausted. All for nothing… or so it seemed.<\/p>\n

I paused to rest on a flat rock underneath a tree. I breathed in quietly and breathed out again. Wondering about an elusive bird…wondering about a wasted morning.<\/p>\n

And then quite suddenly there was a gentle change in the rhythm of the breezes around me.\u00a0I sensed his presence\u00a0 once again by my side..<\/p>\n

My eyes were closed and I did not want to\u00a0hurry them open.<\/p>\n

Time was not of importance when I was with him. He knew the questions. The answers would come as and when he deemed fit.<\/p>\n

But they were not his answers. He would draw them out of me\u00a0with surgical gentleness and precision.<\/p>\n

But first he would prepare me..<\/p>\n

“You seem very frustrated,” he said.<\/p>\n

My eyes remained closed. He was moving gently in through the subconscious folds of my\u00a0wearied spirits..<\/p>\n

querry2@gmail.com<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Whistling Schoolboy Dawn at a hill station. Monsoon dawn. It had been raining all through the night. Just now there\u00a0is a lull in the rhythmic pitter-patter rain\u00a0sounds that had\u00a0gently and persistently broken through\u00a0the semi-conscious shadows of\u00a0my sleep hours… Monsoon mornings at a hill station can be quite lazy and extended.. Morning sounds.\u00a0Rush-hush breezes. Nature\u00a0 … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Incounters 5 The Whistling Schoolboy_”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1068"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1068"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1068\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1068"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1068"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/terry-times.com\/book\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1068"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}