Sangeetha Kamath

Winter is upon us, but November in these parts feels like high summer. The excessively wild, overrun garden which was blessed with a thriving monsoon had been pruned, hacked and trimmed prim ‘n proper a couple of weeks ago. Bare, except for a few sprouting shoots, the swarms of multi hued butterflies of various proportions, dragonflies buzzing around and the most miniscule of hummingbirds savoring the last honeyed drop of nectar from the waning blooms—a variety of life that thronged our garden have deserted it. Nature goes still and everything has quietened…it's hibernation season for the wildlife.  Except for the piercing call of the Coucal that heralds its arrival as it swoops down from its inconspicuous nest snuggled on a nearby luxuriant herbage making my garden come cheerfully alive. Strutting on the common, low brick walls parting the houses next door and also along the gates and on flowering shrubs fringing the row of houses across from mine, its glossy,indigo feathers highl