From the green bench I recall the word that stuck – ephemeral. Wonder if water formed in the snow hills is ephemeral or the water in the water tanker here over which women fight their loud throats.

All ephemeral things reach their seas ,from the hills and the tankers and the women’s voices on top of mornings silence. Their bodies thirst for water from the hills and the water tankers, their ephemeral voices tearing the quiet of my morning walk.

* Why is the sky blue?

Someone asks why the sky is blue and forgets the answer each time.Actually it is different each time depending upon when you ask and why. It is difficult to remember what the last answer was.

Just now I ask because these are women’s voices coming on top of morning . The water tanker has come to this shanty on the road for this day .The water in the tanker is ephemeral like the women’s voices coming on top of the mornings silence . Like water spilling from the top of the tanker .

The water from the snowed hills or in the tankers has to reach its seas. The seas are blue like the sky and everything is ephemeral like the sky ,depending upon when you ask the question and why .The answer is different each time.

* Water tankers

Water tankers are a bit of the summer sky.They come each year like migratory birds to our putrid lake. From the top of the tanker the waters spill like women’s voices from a mornings silence.

As the tankers come their trunks are full of gushing water for waiting plastic buckets. Bodies are waiting in canvas bath rooms for plastic buckets.The women are colourful with their voices like plastic buckets. Some are cracked like recycled plastics.


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