A sombre dusk and a dandy lad/lass

A dawn of faded blue, grey, dark, pale orange and rusted silver. Nature holds the ultimate copyright on colours, shapes and phenomenon...

Lanky lad/lass--Parijat
Well, with painful pruning, which hurt my conscience and his/her body as my pruner did its job, my friend will at least won't blame me too much after looking at himself/herself. A fantastic tree model he/she appears. A gorgeous adolescent! Nutrition of monsoon season and my jimming instructions have put it on the path of developing a well chiselled tree body. He/she appears like a tautly proud and confident NCC cadet. All the best! Grow to be a firm soldier against pollution and ecological degradation!

The story of love between a thorn and a rose

Monsoon wedding. The husband, a prickly, stern, hardwooded acacia; the wife, a mellowy, soft, delicate, juicy, heaet-shaped leaves attired embracer Giloy (Tinospora Cordifolia). She covers her beau's hardy ruggedness. He spreads his hardy self for her soft, supine creepy lovenotes to climb high and kiss airy swirls of the monsoon season. All of us are just parts of a larger beauty, mere contributors to a bigger picture. No life stands in isolation. All are contributing characters on the largest canvas where Colors, shapes, panorama keep moving in a circulatory fluidity, giving rise to stories, anecdotes and episodes. Feel the mammoth river of Life flowing around your apparently distinct self. Spread your wings. Enlarge your vision. Broaden your heart. Embrace more of life and living. It gets you freedom from the chained self imprisoned in narrow confines of illusions, ignorance and a block in the smooth flow. Claim your liberty!

A little story of an abandoned nest

An abandoned home waiting for mother nature to dissolve it into a different shape. A masterwork of tailoring by the tiny Tailorbird by stitching three leaves to make a cosy home. The interiors have strong webby framework of buffalo hair and cotton. How do I know these are buffalo hair. Haaa haaa. I do. We know know them with more familiarity than even our own crop on our head. Grew as we wallowing in the village pond where buffaloes swam, defecated and urinated with an utmost sovereign ease. Haaa haaa. I can even recall the taste on my skin, including the tongue part---haaa haaa sorry to disturb too pilished tongues--as we played in our acqua playground. Well, leave it...
Coming back to the little abandoned home. A little sugary sweet lump of love and care that arranged this texture. A new life flew out successfully, as I myself bear witness to at least one hatchling taking on to its first flight out of the tiny cluster of trees.
So the sweet home will be dissolved, recycled and change to a new pattern. It's a long and winding story to the ultimate home dotted with little little temporary homes where love coos in finest, delicate most tunes...

The ultimate cocoon of the penultimate camouflage caterpillar

Case moth, a camouflage caterpillar, on its leaf eating sortie on my guava. This chap makes a silken cocoon around it and attaches tiny twigs around it. And then moves like a little cylindrical wagon of firewood. Amazing. But of course poor leaves have a different tale to tell. Well, he should not be deprived of such hardworked breakfast, lunch, brunch and dinner all put on the same plate. Babblers though happen to have this feaster on their own lunch table. The cantankerous kings of the quarrelsome birdie world, make lot of noise while undoing the protective wood wagon and gather their own food from something which was gathering from someone else. So now the case moth has a sorry tale to tell. Ask the babbler. It definitely will have many of the same genre to tell. Well, this sad touch in the story is simply our mental projection created relatively to a so called happy touch. Beyond our mental  projections, there are simply stories in nature, cyclically interweaving their threads to make one singular entity, the ultimate case moth, the final camouflage...

A glimpse of the ultimate truth

A glimpse of the ultimate truth at dusk in my village:
On the infinite canvas in the sky, He, the ever-creative artist, paints one mural after the other. Gives a fleeting vision of the ultimate truth. Of transience. Of ever transforming shades. The creator doesn't hold onto the fleeting shades. He allows these to dissolve into newer and newer frescoes.
PS: Ravinder bhai has provided a higher dimension to my emotion through his translation. So cannot help sharing it on the main post with much thanks to him. He is rapidly evolving on the path of self realisation. May almighty allow him to stand face to face with the ultimate truth. Here goes the translation:
वह, एक रचनात्मक कलाकार के रूप में, आकाश के अनंत चित्र-फ़लक पर , एक के बाद एक चित्र बनाता है। एक अंतिम सच्चाई के रूप में क्षणभंगूर दृश्य देता है । क्षणिक भंगुरता का  । कभी रूपांतरित होते हुये रंगों का । विधाता इस लगातार बदलते क्षणिक रंगों को रोकता नहीं है । वह तो  इस घुलते हुये नए से नए बनते भीतिचित्रों की अनुमति प्रदान करता रहता है -----आभार सहित प्रोफेसर रविन्द्र कुमार