For a monkey who is blind, time has high viscosity.
It doesn't flow as smooth, and as fast as someone who has the gift of sight.
The Blind Monkey has stayed in The Magic Tree for a year more since his last Monkey buddy left. The squirrels were aware that he is lonely, and has nicely made every effort to ensure his stay will be a pleasant one.
As for the Magic Tree, it has started sprouting colourful leaves.
Amazing red, indigo and cyan leaves. And fragipanni flowers too.
But it isn't of much visual difference to the Monkey - Everything was pitch dark.
He spent most of his time meditating. Enjoying the sounds of the wind and the fluttering of the leaves.
God has a funny way of being fair. He may have taken the vision off the Monkey, but he amplified his other working senses. The Blind Monkey may appear nonchalant, but he is very alert to what's going on around him. The squrrels may be soft-spoken, but no decibels is too low for the Monkey's hyper-sensitive ears.
From what he is not supposed to hear, the migrated monkeys were doing well on their respective magic trees.
He sincerely wishes them well.
A little blue bird landed on The Magic Tree one day, attracted by the multiple colours of the leaves. The Blind Monkey started making friends with the Blue Bird, hearing stories from its adventures from the other trees. The little Blue Bird was his singular window to the vast wide big unknown.
One day, the Blue Bird asked the Blind Monkey if he would like to leave the Magic Tree for another. The Blue Bird has apparently found a Special Tree. One that will open his vision.
The Blind Monkey said he will consider. You see, his squirrel friends have been close to him ever since the 2 monkey left. And he shared an intangible bond with the Magic Tree he has been living on for the past many years. But he knows that without a change, he will always be what he is. A blind monkey waiting for his time to be up.
There came a day when the Blue Bird did not return on his daily visit. Days later, rumours had it that it has been shot down, by merciless hunters. Hunters who view a shot target as an indication of their excellent marksmanship.
The monkey saw it as a sign to heed the supposedly dead comrade's advice. To leave the Magic Tree. He packed his luggage - basically a small bag of peanuts, and started feeling his way (he's blind) to the tree trunk while the squirrels were playing on their own.
And the Monkey descended the tree. Carefully.
He recalled the Blue Bird had told him that the other Magic Tree was to the northwest.
But which direction exactly is northwest?
He knows not what the future holds.
He knows not if the decision is a wise one.
If not now, then when?
If not him, then whom?
He chose a random direction and started walking.
Away from the Magic Tree he once called home.
"Goodbye my little friends."
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