Friday, October 26, 2012

That natural bliss at my Kinder age I miss....!

The Shrunken ice, vivid change.... 

It was a great county side, a village where I grew up. 
Sumthrang village of Bumthang Ura in Bhutan is located just at the foot of a cliff at its north. 

To walk up to its top, one takes about an hour but it is just over half an hour to walk down from the cliff back to the village.

Huge pile of that cliff adorns the tiny village with its magnificent beauty of flowering bushes around and a gush of flowing stream cutting the cliff in to two halves. 
The stream that runs down through the ravine of the cliff was once a a joy of the village for it provides clean mountain dew in summer and astonishing blanket of ice in winter amidst the cliff, where vultures fly and rest enroute from their northern habitat to the southern foot plains. 

The 'SOUND OF FALLING ICE' was said to be the great charm of the spring approach according to the elders and I remember hearing that sound at my early eight for the first and last.

Since then the sound of falling ice was never heard, because the winter ice is not as big as it once use to be. Thickness of the snow fall that I once enjoyed at my young age is now no more an experience for the youths of this generation at this village.

As I visit my village in the mid of summer, the stream where we swim at my young age is not so big enough as I remember. 

I saw the ice in winter not as big and as vast as I once witnessed at my kinder age. When I with my friends play around as we roamed in the jungle picking up fire wood to warm in winter, the ice covered wider and it used to be thicker.

My kinder age is to much associated to the fun of nature, our young group of friends would  enjoy a fun of small hunting, running after the beautiful peasants that we see around.

With tiny hands, swinging tiny stones that never succeeded a kill but was a fun that we were offered by the pleasant nature. Now as I go around, things look different, we rarely hear the sound of those beautiful peasants, forget witnessing their colorful pattern. 

The ice within the revine of the cliff is thin, the water has no gushing effect but moves silently though the rough basin full of rocks that once use to be covered by water. 

And a farm road bends left and right and reaches no where at the slope next to the glory of that cliff seemingly eyeing the thick jungle of fir that stand around the hill above the cliff top.

If this is climate change, it really is happening...............!

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