How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains! – John Muir
I dream of a home in hills,
Amidst steep, scary and lush heights.
Overlooking a view of pine trees and rhododendron bushes,
And surrounded with solemn and resolute cedars.
With him whose omnipresence,
Regulates the soft murmur of my heart
Its cadence becomes upbeat with his arrival,
And sunrise turns into perennial golden.
Seasons there alternate between
Mild summers, brief monsoons, and prolonged winters.
And an unkempt garden contains roses,
Geraniums, wild coffee, and stinging nettles.
Since the sky is clear blue, it is blithe May,
Cherry and plum flowers have set their trees ablaze.
Mist and dark clouds now hover over vales,
As moisture-laden wind foretell the arrival of torrential rain.
In winters only sound that prevails is the crackle of logs
In fireplace and chirping of snow-finches on a distant forest,
He weaves a web of immersive conversations,
And antagonises me to amuse himself..
As I watch him in naiveté filled with cornucopia of love,
He adds more logs into the central fire of house,
It is a gradual yet implausible fabric of life with him,
Designs in which are floral, abstract, and variegated.