One fine moment, in the middle of the forest at night, with no moon to bestir the soul, assaulted by a medley of sounds, safe in the unfamiliar.
Another day, wading out into the glaze of midday's sunburned sea, salt stung skin cooled by gentle waves splashing, and no distance to perceive.
Once upon a time, poised at the very edge of a cliff that rolls down to a snaking, roiling river far below, snow peaks ahead as far as the eye can see, when an eagle swoops in front riding on air currents, which carry the scent of deodar and rhododendrons.
In the colourless haze of a winter's dawn, a blood-red sun pops suddenly over the inky canopy of forest, bringing alive the shades of green, as the boat rocks on the pulsing tides of the mangrove delta waters.
Monsoon showers clean the streets, wash the leaves, and the dark gray clouds part reluctantly allowing the brilliant colours of a setting sun to paint the sky into darkness.
On a coir-rope cot, in a power-cut, humid night, to hear lizards scamper excitedly in the thatch roof, mosquitos frenetically dance to the sound of a nearby drum that steadies into an insistent rhythm, as a flute joins in, plucking out spaces in the beat.
Another day, wading out into the glaze of midday's sunburned sea, salt stung skin cooled by gentle waves splashing, and no distance to perceive.
Once upon a time, poised at the very edge of a cliff that rolls down to a snaking, roiling river far below, snow peaks ahead as far as the eye can see, when an eagle swoops in front riding on air currents, which carry the scent of deodar and rhododendrons.
In the colourless haze of a winter's dawn, a blood-red sun pops suddenly over the inky canopy of forest, bringing alive the shades of green, as the boat rocks on the pulsing tides of the mangrove delta waters.
Monsoon showers clean the streets, wash the leaves, and the dark gray clouds part reluctantly allowing the brilliant colours of a setting sun to paint the sky into darkness.
On a coir-rope cot, in a power-cut, humid night, to hear lizards scamper excitedly in the thatch roof, mosquitos frenetically dance to the sound of a nearby drum that steadies into an insistent rhythm, as a flute joins in, plucking out spaces in the beat.
1 comment:
Hall of Fame! Awesome...
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