it’s the first day of grīṣma.
as i sit working under the softly whirring ceiling fan,
my mind tricks me into momentary escapes.
to wander over the hill
coloured in roasted sunshine
outside my window,
to accompany the afternoon birds
nestling deeper into tree shades,
and to listen to the murmur of leaf-shadows
bathing in the cool muddy water
of a garden hose.
summer, i’m elusively beginning to fill with it.