The Thursday Post Critiques 30.01.2014

Ethereal Paints


He opened his eyes after placing the santoor down.

The sun has risen, just shown up, a glowing red dot in the eastern horizon. Birds were chirping busily, noisily, they had plans to made for the day. His bag of seeds was lying beside him.

He looked down, a single rose was lying near his feet.

Someone comes here every morning and leaves a single rose when he plays his santoor, ever since he shifted to this small cottage in arms of hills.

It seems she (must be) watches him from the cover of trees and comes to give her small gift, leaves without disturbing him.

He so wished that she stayed…waited… till he opened his eyes.

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