The Mango Trees and The bird's Nest

I was standing on my balcony, this afternoon, watching the mangoes heavy on their branches sway lazily in the breeze.

The scent of ripening fruit mixed with the faint dust of the street below, and for a moment I forgot everything. I forgot I will be busy from tomorrow and also forgot that steem prise has gone up a little.

Everything felt suspended in harsh light, green leaves, and that small, steady heat wave that comes with summer. Then my eyes fell on the lobby and I noticed something I hadn’t before, a tiny, nest tucked in the cup of the fan. I was a bit surprised how had I missed it?

I moved closer, took a picture bur was careful so not to startle the birds there, as I saw two tiny heads from the twigs of the nest.

Their eyes were closed and the bird sitting over them. I felt both privileged and protective, as if I were suddenly part of their small story. From my balcony I watched the bird settling back into silence.

A stray gust nudged the mango leaves and made a soft, leafy applause. I promised to myself not to disturb them and my wife was even more keen although she needed the fan while using the washing machine.

In that quiet shared moment between mango trees and newborn life, the ordinary day became quietly miraculous.

Mango trees leaned over the lane, heavy with not yet ripped fruit and leaves swaying in a slow, rhythm.

From the street came a steady chorus: distant scooters, a hawker’s call, children’s laughter, and the occasional sounds of construction around the area.

Together that all felt a soft, lived-in soundtrack that framed the green hush of the trees and the sound rising from the branches. You can also see and hear that dear Steemians.