The chronicle of the afternoon wind
It arrives a little after the stroke of noon, imparting a host of dancing moves to gooseberry laden slender branches which twist and turn in gay abandon, sending the fallen potpourri of white and pink bougainvilleas and yellowing neem leaves into a huddle in a corner, giving a hearty hug to the Oleander plant, proudly showing off a profusion of yellow blossoms, scattering the dried twigs, here and there, for the eager nest builders to gather, cajoling the bounteous mango tree dreaming of a bumper crop, into dropping some of its green gifts, leaving the blossoming orange tree, enjoying an afternoon siesta with a white dotted carpet to gaze at. On hot and blustery summer afternoons, the wind sets the tune, the notes floating in through the open window. The various stanzas reveal a continuing tale... the gusting wind has a job to do.