Cold has wilted the chrysanthemums, I walked on the cold stone pavement where beneath the neem tree a puppy scampered to its mother, who licked his scruffy fur. They both followed me for a few steps. Cold gathers like shroud these days, stealing the warmth, there are children at the crossings selling useless pens and pencils or begging for anything while their mothers warm their hands and bodies near the wood fire. I watch a young boy part with a biscuit pack as he watches an old man digging in this freezing cold and the gall of bitterness leaves me, there is hope and love still there in world and kindness. Now I do not have full bodied thoughts, actually I do have thoughts but no time to fix them on this space, so I make do with these strips snipped here and there as I glaze through the texture of the day.
