Tonight, in my head I'm walking down the hill from the monastery to the city below. There are grape vines on my right, and cherry trees to my left. As tempting as they are ruby red I colour, they are equally tart in the mouth- I eat them, but it's like they have the last laugh after all. 

The little vein that leads me down has found the outskirts of the city. Old lace hangs in silent windows, with dried flowers in recycled glass bottles. I take pictures; memories of memories forgotten behind the lace. Even more fragile is the sun's unrelenting gaze that is momentarily vanquished by passing clouds in an arrhythmic flow . 

I count seven little roads but I can only walk down one. So I pick one and walk down it...

In my head.

*photo copywrite of Maya Bhalla 2015.