A Golden-baked Sunday

It has been a glorious Sunday. Early in the morning, a baby turned pink from an almost purple blue.

Then a hike to the hill just off the highway, hidden behind dense thicket, surrounded by large rocks and purple weeds, revealed a stream gurgling loud complaints as it splashed rocks into shape. We watched water spiders make waves and heard brainfever birds in the distance, in addition to my company airing their ear worms loudly. 

On the way back, we made a detour through the local sunday market, and while the others bought strange shaped and coloured vegetables from small piles, i attempted to catch the eye of anyone who looked like they may be interested in being my camera’s subject.

Brunch was an omlette, with the sweet locally baked bread and a colourful salad tossed in olive oil, vinegar, pepper and lemon ( I think). After much lazy hot water splashing, I sit here, with my feet up(my toe ring changing colours after having been subject to multiple elements of nature), my back to a luke warm sun, under a wood thatched roof, a wooden hand-made chime dancing gently over my head, and strains of flute coming from the neighbouring hut. My limbs ache sweet from the walking. Afternoon is spilling into evening, the birds are flying back in poorly constructed Vs and I feel good. I have caught the day, as if off guard, in a moment that is still, and alive. Im sipping very sour lemon tea, nibbling on a very sweet sweet a friend has brought from Kerala and reading a book called ‘Emergency Sex (and other Desperate Measures) : True Stories from a war zone’, written by a bunch of people who worked with U.N.

The song of the crickets has already faded into a barely discernible back ground track, and the infamous Bijapur mosquitoes have begun to buzz in my ears, attracted to my bright laptop screen.

Today has been sorted. I am grateful.