Saturday

Tired

The evening had set in and presently looking out of the kitchen window, one could see a few buttercups flitting on the marigold ablaze with the evening sun. My feet felt heavy and my mind was adrift. I moved into the bedroom and sat on the chair before the window looking at the trees with drooping leaves that shone under the last rays of the western light. I could see a woman take a walk in the park holding the hand of a child whose other hand was busy waving a bright yellow ball in the garden air, the ball slipped out of his hand to land into a bush, the woman let go his hand and with all promptness set about his hunt for the ball, I could see the boy bend down, his head disappeared into the soft green foliage, the woman busied her self in a conversation with another lady. The boy had found his toy and one could see him hold it with triumph into the air. The woman finished her conversation with the lady and held his hand again and presently he was bounding away, one hand in hers and in the other the bright yellow ball.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

So what exactly is the point?

IG said...

what is the title's connection with the narration ?!!
Incidentally, I think you are using your blog nicely for a future book that will get you booker prize !!! Remember to treat all people who read your blogs :))

Sagar said...

anon~ :-)

ig~ I would prefer the fields instead. :-)

Supriya said...

i CAN see the point of the post
:)

Sagar said...

Supriya~Thank you, lady. :-)

Chit said...

cool







(sometimes i hate blogger. honestly some of these word verifs- vfvmxslt?? that didn't work. Sigh. This is my second try)

Sagar said...

Chit~thanks. :-)

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