The trees were still,
like meditating Rishis,
seemingly motionless and lifeless,
but as alive as can be.
We bowed to them.
The trees, in so many shades,
raining leaves as Time expanded,
Its canopies, looking like a carpet on the mountainside,
and a decades-old stubble on the mountain top.
We were rooted in the woods.
Accompanied by a chattering stream,
Pebbles, like Jewels in the clear water,
reflecting the golden light,
the transparent paint of His palette,
a festival of colors painted out now.
We were eroded by the stream.
The clouds raced above,
like floating speech balloons,
Their shadows gave us a pleasant chill,
and ever so often, warmed our hearts.
Our feelings danced with them.
A lake came along,
its ripples communicating in binary,
something hidden but majestic.
As if listening to our queries,
its stillness revealed our thoughts.
We spoke with each other.
A few hundred footsteps on,
a roar met us,
a pretty waterfall tumbled down with force,
and sent the spray skywards.
We were drenched in joy.
Autumn wielded its brush,
the forest was a collage,
the creatures in the forest,
singing like wind chimes.
We were in a painting.
Seasons may be repetitive,
Nature’s sights may get familiar,
Life may be uniform,
the weather may be wearying,
We didn’t miss any monotony.