A little bit of nostalgia…written years ago- to be continued, but who knows when-
The valley in the foothills of the Himalayas was white in the winter and shades of green otherwise. The Mango trees that grew along winding paths bore fruit in the summer when it was hot, and then the hills were a shade of bottle green worn by soldiers of the Border Security Force, who lined the outskirts of the town. The river came down from beyond these hills and ran behind the old stone temple. And sunlight soaked its water and drenched the children flying in the white sand, running barefooted and free. And though the water in the cups of our palms was colourless, the river flowed with blue and green and purple and gold.
And while we picked smooth rounded pebbles from the shore and threw them back into the river, in efforts to reach the opposite bank, the river silently deposited its load of starfish and seashells and small translucent green stones onto our feet, soaking our soiled toes and making them twiddle.