Walking By Fields After A Foggy Morning
Fog was gone leaving little traces of mists. Though it was cold, I walked on trails limits of my field.
by Abhinav Maurya
Till the horizon as much as my eyes could see everything was lush green.
Except yellow mustard flowers, a paramount bouquet in clime's finest hour.
I was shuddering still I went into the wheat field, 'barefoot' dare not hurt those little plants.
Oh! That heavenly touch of soil.
Two-three steps and my feet were wrapped in droplets foil.
Making little spaces I walked through to another end.
Where I sat on a grass tuffet wondering if you have been there with me- chilled.