I like the kind of weekend….
Where old doors are discovered amidst a verdant farm
And carts are seen resting in the wayside.
Where grandchildren pester and play in the porch of an ancestral home,
Out in the sun, beside the holy basil,
Over a watchful eye.
And a father and son farmer duo till the earth.
They pause and slip into answering random questions,
Welcoming a conversation from a city- dweller.
Their responses sound easy; weigh heavy with wisdom.
I like the kind of weekend
Where children are spotted exploring their curiosity,
Albeit with a playful and protective dog
Oh! the lovely kind of weekends,
Where a short drive gets you onto the countryside-
With music, family and a snack to munch on.