Green and blue

The day begins early. And the ride is long. But it is easy. Far too easy. The light is grey and without direction. He takes the highway, crossing a few villages and vast expanses of nothingness. There are reports of shooting in the area, but far less so in recent times. But he sees nothing to be afraid of. He wonders if fear is nothing more than a conditioned response. Only experience can change what he understands as indication. He rides on and into more nothingness, into a mass of colourlessness, into glimpses of the ordinary. But the ride loosens up the machinery, gears it up to face the day.

Mundane as it is, much of the remaining hours are hounded by driving woes! Roads filled with herds of cattle, three wheeled mechanical vehicles, loaded trucks threatening to burst open any moment are negotiated. Most things are random and about improvisation. Absolute alertness is demanded. Bits and pieces of work get done during the day. The important ones. And a bit is postponed. Lunch is at a new place. Remote as the offices are, an attempt is made to provide all kinds of facilities to make life a bit more inviting. Brief dust storms rage. There's even a hint of rain. It isn't really believable to non-witnesses since the temperature isn't affected. Only vehicles are spattered with patterns carved in dust.

The evening is silent. Music tumbles down in pieces. Lights blink on. The moon looks like a sticker pasted on an indifferent sky. It is Wednesday, a day without much character, much presence. It comes and goes like a stranger. But not without the promise of rain or the gush of wind that stirs every leaf.