Idle Trees

i look for you every time i pass by the old french pavilion and recognize the idle trees silently grumbling about the emptiness that now sits under them; the fallen leaves have started to smell bad:

and pablo, the dog keeps hearing echoes of familiar voices of those who have long since been gone and passes by every once in a while to see if anyone is back, he no longer chills there though; i guess he has a hard time understanding how memory can be wondrous and a nuisance, void and an influence, concrete and translucence, all at once:

...

i actually look for you when i look for Jayalakshmi, the goat lady, entrepreneur at age sixty, who cannot be seen there either these days for some reason, perhaps her negotiating skills have taken a bad season, whereas earlier, she could easily crack a deal with the inhabitants for a month's long supply of breakfast idlis and dosais that she would cook for them in exchange for money and the unchallenged right to challenge any other amma who was lured by the bright prospects of befriending the folks of the pavilion:

...

in the passing ripples of yesterdays smeared along known corners and shops, on old clothes and stains, on their faint scents, each day getting smaller, each day making more space for another round of bright candles, happy tickles, candid mingles, merry jingles, of love and laughter on a brand new chapter, on the other side of tomorrow, i look for you far and distant, hat on head, map in hand, i look for you in the stillness of every instant: