Three chili plants remaining, I once thought they would succumb after I almost drowned them with neem oil because of pesky ants. Together in a pot, amidst many stormy nights, it’s always a surprise when I see them breathing in silent delight. Yes, with wrinkled leaves, but at least, still alive.
But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky. Too fleeting yet free of roots, wandering without being lost. For once, I want to climb on their soft back, albeit sunburn, just to taste the spice of freedom.
Maybe after life.