I was away again. To be with my parents. My father's health took a turn for the worse and we, my brother and I, took the long route home. Long, because we were fraught with worry and the road during the rainy season is at its worst.
But nature was at its best! In whatever season I'm on this route, I always feel that it's the best season. The green was refreshing and the jungle was in a blooming frenzy. Although we stopped at only a few places to stretch our limbs, every point had either blooms or beautiful insects. The flora and fauna of North Cachar Hills, our district, is rich and fascinating.
From the road a view of the river Diyung, the longest river in the district.
Crepe ginger in the wild.
From the red bracts you can tell that it's been blooming for some time.
A butterfly on the roadside. I've never photographed this one before. It's the Rustic butterfly.
The bridge of sighs (of relief). When we get this far, our destination is near!
Below are some grasshoppers I photographed.
Many kinds of wild grass were in bloom. This is the shortest variety and against the green backdrop they looked really pretty. The vine looks like the Grape-leaf wood rose, a variety of Ipomoea.
My family can only pray that my father's suffering doesn't get worse. Age and illness can be a near-fatal combination.I'll be blogging at my usual pace now but I might soon have to go back.And if there's silence from my side, you'll understand.
Glory be to God for dappled things- For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him. Gerard Manley Hopkins
The first flowering shrub I planted on our land
Every flower is a soul blooming in Nature.-Gerard De Nerval
Shall I not have intelligence with the earth? Am I not partly leaves and vegetable mould myself? -Henry David Thoreau