We seem to reach the boundaries of life that make us breathless, as we stand under trees and look up at their leaves and droplet flowers,one by one, in fog that falls silently off sky shelf on trees to the very ends of the leaves , droplets that make their India voyage in a map a boundary for life, defining its contours.

The birds may have reached the end of the cries, in their wakings from sleep their existence this side of our houses .At the end of sound and start of a sun each day a sun is born and dies. Its boundaries are set at the end of leaves,in  a glint that is born ,lives, merges in  a white wall, the opaque boundary of all experience.


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