Its beautiful in the garden, rocking to the creaking sound of the swing, enveloped by a cool breeze, almost incomprehensible. A group of old women chatting non-stop, finding a peaceful haven, of companionship in the lap of healing Nature. The breeze plays with my hair, hating to be ignored, teasing, present, happy. Children shout and play all around, losing to the mad cacophony of crows, indecipherable, impromptu. People walk in circles, ruminating, chatting, relishing an outdoors that has become so precious after the lockdown. Dogs laze in the grass, observing the antics of everyone around. Love the sight of children running and playing freely, joyously. Trees remain silent witness, observing from their high perches, a new scene, fresh heartbeats, unmatched stories, waiting for that one look, of appreciation, of love, of gratitude. Flowers laugh and smile, swinging on branches swaying in the breeze, or with birds playing hop skotch on them. Spilling over Earth in celebration, dressing it forming welcoming carpets all over its heart. A football rolls across the silky grass, adding a dash of coloured and beckoning fun. Old men form their own group of deep conversations, needing to be heard, even through shared silence. Mangoes weigh heavy on branches, creating a gratifying upliftment in every glimpse. Seagulls move in circles, imitating eagles rising high in disdain. The sky interspersed with clear shades of blue and white, adorned by a full moon looking down indulgently. So many stories form in hearts, in groups, in thoughts, in the windows of buildings around, as i write one of my own just like that.
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