Monday, 1 June 2015

Writing Fiction.....................................





 ............ from inside pages of my book, (yet to be titled).




*        The pines, some greener and softer than others, and one taller than the next, vying for visitors' attention stood resigned to the fact that the holy mountains grabbed all the attention. But they drew comfort from the fact that once a while a few leisure travellers would walk in their midst and sit under their shadow, a writer would gaze at them for hours appreciating their individual and collective beauty; children would pluck their leaves and brush them against their tender cheeks and feel them between their palms. 

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