Freewrite: Under a Cloudy Sky

The afternoon sky was gray, as if holding an old story untold. Below it stood an old wooden building, part of its roof worn down by time, several sheets of corrugated iron blown loose by the wind. This place may have once been bustling, perhaps witnessing laughter, casual conversation, or even shelter from a sudden downpour. Now, only the sound of the wind and the rustling of leaves accompanied the silence.

The ground beneath was dry and dusty, but in small nooks, remnants of wild grass still grew freely, and a few pieces of old wood still held the building's frame firmly in place. In the distance, the green trees and the sky slowly opening to reveal a tinge of blue, as if to offer hope that even the broken can be repaired, that everything that is silent can be revived.

Places like this teach us about time. That everything has its own prime, then slowly ages and makes room for something new. Not everything that seems old is dead; sometimes it is just waiting for the touch of a hand willing to give it life again.

I stood here for a long time, observing, remembering, and contemplating. There's something peaceful in the silent desolation. It's as if this place speaks silently, telling a story without words. About the journey, loss, and hope left behind in the old wood chips.

Perhaps one day, this place will be bustling again. Perhaps someone will rebuild it, patch the torn roof, sweep the dusty ground, and transform it into a place full of life. But for now, let it remain as it is silent, simple, and full of memories under a cloudy sky that's slowly starting to clear. 🌥️

Note: I am writing in Indonesian and using the help of Google translate to translate into English.

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Warm Greetings From

@gunting