A mislaid postcard from Vienna. A mind numbingly boring phone call that shouldn’t have been. A skirt that once went to college. A book on Redoute’s Roses. A song that goes ‘one, two, three marlenas’. A juvenile sparrow among the petunias. A poem about a water drop learnt in middle school. A cool breeze mistakenly conveying the idea of winter. A boy painted silver and blue accompanied by five others painted red. A sparrow, then another and another - more sparrows among the petunias. A cup of tea after three long months. A scene from Bergman’s Seventh Seal re-enacted from memory. A thought shared with a twelve year old. A white cat chased by two dogs - one black and the other also black. A comment on life, human arrogance not unlike something by Nietzsche. A drawing of Rudbeckia Pinnata copied from An Illustrated History of the Garden Flower. A photograph of you from Saint Paul de Vence. A shooting star viewed from the balcony. A tree with four swooping bats. A moon that seemed would never rise again. A really long weekend.
Only to end with one persistent thought: What’s with Indians and our fascination for the word musings?
2 comments:
probably because we simply muse a lot.... "in those good old days!"
Yeah maybe. But after a point it isn't amusing :))
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