Thursday, January 3, 2008

Autumn in the Hills

This poem is about Haflong-the place where I grew up.

Gossamer mist/float like whispers/over the big lake/and you wake up /to fairyland.
Where is the vibrant/blue of the hills,/the verdure of the landscape...?/Like a painting /of still life,/the town lies,/serene,surreal./Then slowly/ but surely/the smells take over./
Woodsmoke/ and roasted peanuts,/oranges and/smoked meat,/the warmth of crackling fires..../
It's autumn/in the hills/again!

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I love....

  • Dew on the bamboo, yellow flowers and orange sunsets, the sound of rain...the whistle of the wind, the rush of flowing water, the smell of woodsmoke, the crackle of a wood fire,the moon in all its phases.......

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