A small herd of schoolgirls dressed in Pink and white made their way out of the unfenced ground. Marching to the tune of the fife and the Drum whose membrane bore the signs of years of heavy beating and affection. Just a few feet beneath the field was a small stream or rivulet...you may call it whatever you want which didn't seem to be in a hurry and was flowing with a carefree stride. The mountains were looking down upon their wards and their ever watchful gaze placated the concerned mothers of the errant boys who broke the files to scamper past the old school building and into the corn field where stood cute scarecrows which beckoned youth and infancy alike to flock to them.
The beauty of the scene lay not it's simplicity but in it's complexity. Behind all those simple and plain portraits there was a complex maze of contrasting emotions and overtures.
I stepped out of the car to click a snap and ended up clicking a small piece of life all alive and dancing before my eyes.
Valleys are beautiful because they are closer to the earth and nearer to the mountains. There is a sense of calm and serenity which resides there. One can rise up and stoop down all at the same time without actually doing either. The lull which marks the dusk is occasionally broken by a couple of young children who play blissfully in the silence and seclusion of their world.I also saw some girls thursting their beautiful backs on to the pile of fodder and chirping away with a wild excitement in their eyes. An old farmer returning home with a shabby bag clinging on to his muddy shirt. A woman with a sickle in her hand briskly walking on the extreme corner of the road staring inquisitively at the presence of an alien being.
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