Pheasant - spotting
It was a dewy morning, At a small hillock Amidst the pine-trees of Shoja. The day before, We had accompanied On opposite ways A wild and young Sutlej As we ascended the hills. And Shoja, a pit-stop Turned to be a destination on its own That morning. We had heard the call That of pheasants And we waited at the hill-top Me, anxious, excited Would it be a Kalij? A Monal? Or a blood-red tragopan I waited, with bated breath Looking around for feathers To accompany the melody We waited for Over an hour But there were no pheasant, I was restless now, Almost anxious How could we come this far, This high, And not spot the Himalayan birds? No, that was not acceptable From the hills of wonder ‘Have you noticed Autumn descend slowly In those hills?’ My friend, sage and calm asked I hadn’t – But what a sight to behold Magical dapples of orange Had created a mosaic In these hillside woodlands What beauty!
