There is something miraculously detoxifying about the western sky at sunset. The birds cruise high up in the sky amidst the empyreal canvas amalgamated with gold, orange, azure, violet and crimson by the flowing river water.
The warm-cold breeze across my face tangling my hair takes me right into a Keatsian world. Far somewhere I spot lovers smiling; dreaming into eachother’s eyes. The clear river water with moss green riverbed has been flowing there may be… since eternity.
The leaves from the nearby tree make a melodious rustle. The eastern sky clad with dark smokey-grey nimbus prepares for the Norwester to come. I stand over the bridge across the river seizing the day.
Sindhura 