In search of Arcadia

In mid-August when the entire earth is draped in a million shades of green, the sun is gentle. Hiding behind the clouds when it peeks on to the earth for precious brief moments, the hues of nature come alive  with mysterious tones of greens, blues and yellows radiating an inner light when the breeze touches the dripping leaves.

The land gently sloped northwards towards a distant lake, dotted with five trees in a row; some shedding yellow flowers, on the left side. A koel sang sweetly in one of the trees. On the right side at the front was a large lopsided tree, although its trunk was in the corner, the branches spread inwards towards the plot, as if its whole purpose in life was to provide shade without encumbering the land.

A shepherd marched with dignity carrying a long stick, followed by innumerable sheep mostly walking in a straight line, some clamoring over hedges looking out for fodder, tender leaves which were boundlessly strewn upon the landscape.

Nearby was a cottage with red walls decorated with plantain patterns in white lime. The terracotta walls transported the architect to Calcutta, childhood, aroma of fish, canal, boats, water lilies, stench of stagnant water and moss laden walls.

There was an indescribable peace in the air. This was his space. 

His Arcadia.