He looked so strong then, such a commanding presence. Sitting on the ground drinking tea with his peers. His deep sonorous voice resounding with wisdom. Though words were uttered softly, his companions listened intently. His strength is subtle, silent like an undercurrent. Pride swelled up in my heart. He is a man. My man.
“There is a ghost up that tree.” said the shepherd. The sheep beside him looked up as if to say, ” So let it be how does it bother us.” With many sheep in the area, there was hardly any grass left for grazing. This particular sheep with the fluffiest wool was grazing on a lone yellow flowered plant. But one can’t really call it grazing as it was so gentle with the flower it was more like kissing.
The shepherd had let this sheep grow its wool without shearing it for last three season. The fluffy wool reminded him of one rockstar’s hairstyle whose name he could not even recall properly. There was a stick in the shepherd’s hand forked at the other end. He suddenly realized it and scratched a few lines on a moss covered rock in comfortable reach of his stick.
Not stopping he went on to write his name, drew a few symbols like at the rate sign, an exclamation mark and dot, dot, dot. Got up and went to the other side of the rock to continue his masterpiece. His pants became green at the back because of moss. Continue reading