Nine am is late for a walk, but by then the track is thankfully empty and free of the usual good mornings, fleeting smiles, excuse me’s, just the greens wind and sky; the real reason the explosive light van gogh would have liked, which has begun to just change from mellow and playful to serious I-mean-business, coaxing the green to one more teeny inch, dazzling the still water in the fountain, highlighting the scattered cassia yellow that dot the rough uncut grass; amazing how comfortable the sparrows are with this light as they flit about their busy business, none of the creeping into the shadows for them, thank you.

The hedge at the corner where it turns, past the white of the dusty track? Mid-morning and everything is sharp-edged and brilliant, the trimmed round bush with pale green almost-white leaves features a sparrow that a miniature artist may have put there, the box cut henna hedge is pale and dark green, what other color will it be with the yellow generously showering upon it,each leaf outlined, like it was something created by a passionate lapidary for Shahjehan’s express and personal view?