My Routine Walk To Post Office

Let me take you to the market via my midday walk through the park, past green trees, to the post office in the busy market, restaurants, along the sidewalk.

The sun is shining bright, the sky is blue, as I step out for my walk.

The park welcomes me first with crisp cool air with grass still wet from the drizzle it had last night.

Tall trees sway gently, their leaves whispering secrets in the breeze, casting shadows on this straight walking path.

I wish I could see children laugh here, but this is a working day, so their voices are unheard. I saw a midday jogger nodding hello, running past me, but I could not aim my camera at her.

I aimed for a sensory, immersive narrative with a touch of poetic rhythm to bring the joy of my regular stroll to the post office for official purposes but turn it into a joy trip.

Emerging from the green embrace, the nearby market pulses alive.

You know, honking the horns is like calling names here, so you won't hear them, no vendors, no fresh fruits on walking paths, and no spiced chaat.

My eyes are on familiar restaurants, with oven flames, sizzling food signs, tempting food, and the rich aroma of chicken and alternatives. But not for me; I am a vegetarian.

My regular haunt, the post office, stands sentinel in the middle, with its red walls and signs of other nearby shops.

I walk past customers on the sidewalk as the neon lights flicker on and voices rise in different cadences. The air thickens with frying meat.

I can say my heart is light, my steps are sure, and this ritual route, the park to post, recharges my soul; it's kind of a daily poem in motion.

Note: This walk was in first week of November this year.