Suddenly spring arrives. Quite pre-maturedly. In the dying days of winter.
Some unknown trees are in flame. Cuckoos are responding. One cooing from a nearby tree is answered from far away.
A sparrow comes perching on my window sill. After making sure I am not going to disturb, it looks out with me into a branch of an amloki tree, beside my window, where two wood-peckers are sheltering each other, bosomed in each other’s speckled body.
A squirrel is chased hotly down by another. Sliding a parapet off my neighbour’s two storey, they fall over each other crazily on a debdaru tree. Its leafy branches shake vigorously.
The little sparrow lets out a small shriek, thrusts forward its head, digs out with its tiny beak those which might have itched the brown plume covering its throbbing heart. Then taking a quick glance back at me, it takes to wings, aided by southern wind whirling dust all around.