My cottage in the green woods is
made of mud and pine wood, it’s
nestled in the crook of tall ferns
and a variety of thick green bush.
To the right side is a clearing in
the woods – drops sharply into a
deep ravine, over which sunlight
creeping uphill – stealthily sneaks
past my ethnic Bhutanese – blue
and red blinds, waking me at five.
I am now sitting at my doorstep –
the topmost of a five stone stairs
where the cool breeze is floating
with haze, and caressing my face.
I listen raptly to piercing whistles
intermittently from atop the Fern
and Cypress, amid diverse chirping
of mixt birds hidden from my sight –
Perhaps sitting on branches astride:
Noting, envying my solitary delight.