#1 : Notes from Dalhousie

Sitting under the partial shades of the Deodars, I can hear some caws little apart. Can see a pair of white butterflies frisking over the green roof.
I am swinging. I can sense the wild breezes, mild but enough to mingle with my hair. Girls from Sacred Heart's are singing - their voices diminishing and blurring from behind the thick growth of the 'green'. To everyone's pleasure, Dalhousie doesn't seem to have yet got strangled in the chains of extremities in climate. We still do not possess fans in our residence. The residence is so designed by the good old Britishers that we don't feel much hot but yes cold during the peak winters. That has a solution though - fireplaces. 
Some insects crinkle over and over I haven't been able to trace. Monkeys, grasshoppers are a frequent guests but these insects seem to sing much wider part of the daily chorus, latently. 
No one to talk with, I am all by myself reading and writing under the  blue sky with patches of white clouds on it. Lately, I have realized I am repeatedly missing people. No wonder these leaves descending from the trees and winds forcing petals to fall off the droopy flower speak to me of the separation which is more or less a haunting truth that even time strives to heal its wounds.

Walk over the crumpled stones
Under the faded sun
Into the misty woods.
Watch for those echoes
Bosky Shadows
Only to find if somebody could.
The moving places, the missing faces
In the jigsaws of the crowd
Time is the travelling constant
No cries, no tears, no sound.

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