Nature has strange way of crafting masterpieces. Sometimes with dead moss and before-breakfast sunbeams on a canvas of my valyamma’s (mom’s elder sister) old boundary wall. Sometimes I feel like a thief stealing from a universe that is both beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
I keep an eye open for reprisals. Possibly a wayward meteor, a truck who’s driver is attempting to retrieve a burning cigarette from his lungi or the shears in the hands of an aunt who’s vehemently trimming the wall-top plants.
Such inconveniences make my life and that of those with with me, well interesting.