The guavas were drenched and dewdrops seemed to be trembling from them. The tree was moist and the leaves were dark green. One felt threatened watching it from below. As if the tree was trying to reach out and grab the house with its finger-like branches and wicked-faced leaves. If the tree could be described in one word, it certainly was monstrous. It was a beastly April morning, and the wind was menacing cold. Below, the grass was damp and squishy and was slopped with mud. Nearer, there was a white pavement where ropes of mud were pattering, from the slanted tin roof. It was a misty afternoon and puffs of moist air were floating in the air.

The warm summer wind came gushing from the west, shaking the branches, making the leaves tremble, the soft grass gently pressed against my legs, giving me a tickly feeling. I sat on a chair with my eyes closed, as I felt the lofty air against my face. The flowers stirred and a heavy odor of rose came drifting to my nose. My throat burnt. Oh, the pleasure. I felt as if I was floating in heaven. The hard chair propped against my back and nape of my neck felt therapeutic. The tin roof was slanting right behind me, giving a yellow sparkle. Beside me there was a barely alive cinder sloped on the ground, with faint smoke oozing from beneath. I had just taken a bath and was feeling much lighter. The water was lapping on the drain pipe, gurgling along the way. “Such a peaceful sound,” I thought to myself.

Far, far away, I could hear the bamboos bending and crashing against one another. I looked up to see the sky: it was crisp blue with a sweltering ball of fire in the middle. Bells rang on and on as cycles skirted along the gritty roads. Women walked with their faces covered in shawls. The tin roof rocked behind me made a rattling sound. The smell of the cinder smoke gave me a rotten feeling. I got up from my chair, placing my feet flat on the floor, and gently moved along the roads. The wisps of grass poked my ankles all the way.

The mud was damp and had sloped on my foot. I felt a ghastly feeling. Strong wind whooshed by and the stagnant air rippled. I looked ahead to see the dark clouds slowly covering the sky and their shadows swallowing the fields. In a slow procession, tribes of villagers moved past me, all the while, looking at me in strange ways. To kill time, I twisted my hands and looked up the muscle of hills that rested beyond, the wafts of green below the hills, the white ribbon- like river that raced boisterously down the hills, rows of wooden houses hoisted up by barks of trees. 

The place was magnificent. The rain may have stopped but the roads were still a bit squishy. Finally, the road got darker and then I couldn’t see anymore.