drop, evenings, glad, mist, motionless, murmur, pallid, rivulets, swoon
'Hmmmmm' he let out a sigh which echoed in the solitary valleys and startled him. He looked around slowly around the bench to look if anyone heard him this EVENING. No one did. Bashir looked above at the hazy sky, waiting and hoping to catch the sight of setting sun. But all he could see was gloomy cloud and MIST filled murky garden which lay ahead of him. The garden had withered a long while ago, flowers seemed to bend down in shame now and the leaves lay crushed beneath the bald trees at the weight of time. It was autumn.With despair he gripped his walking stick tightly and looked around. 'Growing old is miserable. It's a sign of weakness' he told himself. 'But then wisdom is a quality inherited along with grey hair. The world teaches you the secrets of life and love' another voice within him cried. He began contemplating about the idea. 'Aren't all the wise men in this world old? Yes they are!' he was overwhelmed with this new revealation. His eyes brightened and then he looked at the garden again. His life seemed like a 'PALLID' performance now. Gone were the days of strength and foolishness. 'The spring of life had ended for me, autumn has set in now. This is not the time for fights and flights, but a time for search of wisdom and pursuit of truth within.' The crushed flowers seemed to applaud and the bald trees shook their head in approval, a cool breeze carried the withered leaves a little further and they seemed to tell him something...... 'Hmmmm......' he sighed.