Across the balcony stands a Peepal tree.
Most days it appears ordinary—its branches tangled against the skyline, its leaves trembling in the smallest breeze. People pass beneath it without looking up. Yet for those who pause long enough, the tree reveals a different world.
Birds arrive there every day.
Some come only for a moment, resting on the electric wires that cross the street. Others hop through the branches, pecking at the small figs hidden among the leaves. Some sing loudly, announcing the morning. Others remain silent, watching the sky.
From the balcony, I began to notice them.
What started as a way of passing the time slowly became a habit of attention. Each bird seemed to carry its own story, its own small way of living with the seasons, the wind, and the city.
At the center of it all stood the Peepal tree.
Old trees have a way of witnessing more than we realize. They stand through heat and rain, through the coming and going of birds, quietly absorbing the life that gathers around them.
These pages are a small record of those encounters—moments shared between a tree, its birds, and an observer on a balcony.
Story One: The Red Whiskered Bulbul
Story Three: The Asian Green Bee-eater
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please Share Your Thoughts :)