A Sunday morning.
I am awake a lot earlier than is usual, even on a weekday. From my bed, swaddled as I am in my quilt, I turn on my side toward the window. Even without drawing open the curtain, I catch snatches of birdsong. And silence, if you can understand that. The steady, dull roar of traffic is absent but not for long.
Parting the corner just a bit, I am granted a framed view of the world. The sky is still silver with the plant in the window-sill darkly dominating everything else. I discover that I can see the exact same scene in b/w, if I close my eyelids a fraction and peer. I proceed to do so till the reverie is broken by the cuckoo clock cooing on the half hour. Compare that to the phone alarm that wakes me on most mornings. Sigh... and snuggle into the quilt even further for a fraction, then get out of bed.
Although against the idea, I start my trusty laptop to check on the football scores. Man U wins - hooray. Liverpool & Man C draw - chuckle, guffaw, etc.
I see a mail from one of the few who matter & write back... you know, one of those starting out being short & snappy but end up as four 6-line paragraphs about practically nothing. A proper mail after ages & I am strangely thrilled. Pan to a pensive me evaluating my current state of affairs, when a simple email is thrilling. Cat-lady type status in the making, me thinks.
My first cup of decent, hot morning coffee in heaven knows how long... & the smell of piping-hot dosas wafts by.
The saxophone resting in it's case, catches a glimpse of pale morning light & gleams elegantly.
It is winter.
I should move back here. To Pune.
Song for the moment: Take five - The Dave Brubeck Quartet