The tree pretends it is alive

There is a bearded man whom I passed by -fellow-creature of the world who has not existed for me till now. I exist in his world , in microcosm ,when briefly his eyes meet mine eye- on the mud-track of my walk. He has now become part of my space-time , a part of my subjective reality.

Further down several ugly apartments rise in stark silence.Their morning hues are a dark ignominious mix of heterogeneous colors .There is this turban of a square-shaped head and the tail of a towel hanging on the shoulder.A woman with a checked towel slung across her chest is walking with an arm-swinging jaunt.

There are men in those holes up there,surrounded by red blue and yellow colors .They may not be earthlings because they do not live on the earth.
Perhaps they are not men but birds because they live in holes in space just like birds that live in holes in space and come down to the earth for food.

Perhaps we can call all those apartments pigeon-holes and the people pigeons that come down briefly to the earth to eat their grains and then fly back to their holes in the evening.There is this perspective for you, from the earth below.

Our tall red and blue building towers above the parrot-green monstrosity of the neighbor’s but is redeemed by the brown- dead branches of the tree which swing in the breeze as though the tree is still alive.Somebody says it is dead and why not fell it.

The tree pretends it is still alive and I like it that way.