Languorous evenings, with me ensconced in my sofa, the world outside in the first throes of dusk. Birds chattering back to their nests, as I lazily plan the rest of the day. Snacks, chai, conversation. Planning done, I pad around the house without any slippers on, setting this into place, straightening that, maybe finding the time to take a couple of inspired photographs in the gorgeous golden light streaming in through my painstakingly selected gauze curtains. And just then it occurs to me, how nice it would be to sit in the balcony, reading, waiting, listening to the cosmic rhythm - a palpable beat - complex rich homogeneous, emanating like a single piece from the orchestra of the universe. A universe I feel delighted to be a part of. Such is the magic of my balcony.
Disclaimer: All persons/events in above note are works of fiction, and bear absolutely no resemblance to anything or body, living or dead. Mostly dead.
