The wind sweeps the last of the fallen leaves from the driveway. It was getting grey and dim outside. Bagira, our beagle boy sneaked inaudibly and sat by the fireplace. The bread was puffing up in the oven and steaming spiced tea was brewing in the kettle. The windows were creaking painfully as the hook could not resist the steady winds blowing down the valley. The sun had set earlier than usual and everybody managed to escape work early after the local radio announcement from the municipality. Before I could pour some milk into the tea, it was already dark. On the treetop of the whispering pine, an owl was hooting faintly. The soft whistling of the leaves and occasional chirps from the nestled cuckoo and her chicks would catch the attention of little Bagira. It wasn’t typically a quiet night where the crickets would orchestrate with the nightjar in a breezy Jasmine fragrance. Read More
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