The sewing room is up on the hill where the fragrance of ghee being made is heavy in the air. So it’s told that this dress was born of butter and has the color of the foam on the ghee. Little rust colored flowers all around and with bubbly chodders, veil and sash floating in the air as they turn pirouettes on the altar in time with the song of the flute. The leis are of fluffy rust and yellow colored roses today that gently sit upon the dress and follow the curves of their bodies glorifying each one.
Along the way of the ramparts there comes an old sadhu strolling up slowly. He’s got deeply lit eyes and short white bahirvasa. He’s got songs that can free your mind hear him singing and you’ll be transformed. Pedal together along the Saint Dagwood’s river then passing over the bridge take the right onto the redone road. Then the gecko comes along and says jaya jaya and cheers us on. We round the school and head down to the west side triangle. Keeping our eyes on the prize and hands upon the bar we sprint down the redone road on to between the lakes where the cold has kept everyone away. Then the opal cliff is also vacant the wharf road brings it back home where there are still couple of dogs out in the yard.
The most blessed event tonight the fresh wind blows so they are surely inside this evening for their night time pastimes.