It rained last night. The trees are green and the roads appear grey. There isnt much that has changed. The reds, yellows, violets lay strewn announcing their obeisance to the weather gods. I look ahead where the lanes converge in a Triveni. I may choose any which way to continue my walk. I walk back. I want to write about the art of nature. There I am, spacing myself out on the ruins of what may have been once a concrete bench laid outside the palatial house of a medicine baron. The notepad awaits the pain of ink tattooing its way through the sheets.
Images have lost their shadow and words have defused their sting. I shed waterless tears. I forgot how to write.
The rain washed away my strife.
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