A Midsummer Day’s Work

A cloud veiled the harsh sun and a breeze abducted the gentle heat radiating from the earth.  Watched on by the swaying trees, fallen leaves rallied around drifting in the slow wind.  No rain hung in the dry air; just a low-pitched swoosh of the wandering zephyr. It was spring elsewhere in India but midsummer…

A Feeling Called Tiger

I’ve felt it far more often than I’ve seen it. In the rustle of the leaves it’s resident, and the thunder over the distant hills brings its euphony. The inchoate buds issue its fragrance, and the sway of the windswept grass talks of its silent jaunt. The frenetic calls of alarm evoke its presence, and…