#wolf notes

Grey Wolf

More info about my cello:

Beyond, towards the Licchavi hills, smoke the colour of wolves loops along a quiet ridge. The sky is perfect for flutes, voices keeping clear pitch, a koel calling through dew-charged air. I sit, settling into my breath, thoughts calming, heightening distant plateaux of dust, and the angle of the southward opening plain. The first vulture circles, swoops, rides another dusty current. I hear distant tinkling, bells on greasy slopes, women readying tea behind faint glass. The last stars are gone, the whitewashed moon; and from the valley, calf-notes pure as breath blown from sheoga wood. I smile - smile again, because even this dusty, yellow valley seems a basin awash with gangetic benediction. Not yet am I a sorrowful man. Not yet. A koel calls again from a silvery eastern sky.