Calls of the wild

A day before, rain showered down on the valley. It had moistened the dusty roads. It had washed away all the dirt from the leaves. Finally the forest had come to life again. It flourishes with all the unfathomable colors.

I looked at the emerald hills and got lost. My deep emotion corresponds equally with the beckoning of forest. I asked myself,” What am I doing here in cubicle?” I was not tied up. I was free to tramp for a day in the wilderness (sic) – under the thick canopy of trees, in the midst of ferns.

As I approached their turf, a dash of purplish violet welcomed me and it accompanied me on my trail. Even the skies seemed to be bathed in violet, though the dark clouds were rapidly advancing to fill the entire expanse.

For four hours I walked, listen to the rhymes of brook and tried to capture the details of undergrowth.

In the forest, day really turns to dusk quite quickly. I speed up my pace to get back to the world of oafish and illogical chaos.

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