Musing

We leave places behind, but pieces of them keep travelling with us ….

Stories Along the Path

Toruna walks almost every day with her son. These walks are special for her, a time to breathe, notice, and listen to the stories unfolding around. Every face, every moment on the street seems to whisper something to her heart. Walking makes her more thoughtful, more aware of life’s small wonders and struggles …

One evening, on their way to the park, Toruna noticed a tiny woollen cap lying on the road. She stopped and told her son, ‘Maybe a mother was carrying her sleeping baby on her shoulder, and while walking home, the little cap slipped off without her noticing. And then when she reached home and saw it missing, she must have felt sad, that cute little cap of her dear child is lost!’ Her son smiled and said, ‘You’re such a storyteller, Mom.’

They both laughed and kept walking.

But Toruna’s eyes continued to wander, always finding small stories hidden in everyday life …

Near the park gate, she saw twin toddlers quarreling over lollipops, their mother watching with an amused smile. One of the twins looked a bit grumpier, & Toruna observed the mother gently scolding and laughing at the same time ….

A few steps ahead, a woman in niqab (a veil on her face) walked alone on the footpath.
She seemed quiet, almost wrapped in her own thoughts. Perhaps she was returning from a long day at work, thinking about bills, groceries, and what to cook for dinner.
Her steps were slow, her shoulders slightly bent, as if she was carrying more than just the weight of her bag. There was a sadness about her, the kind that comes when life feels heavy but must still move on. Watching her, Toruna remembered that she would be going for Umrah soon, and wondered if she might wear a niqab then too. The thought lingered as she walked on …

Near the park bench, Toruna saw a dead butterfly, its wings still beautiful, though still. She picked it up gently and showed it to her son who looked at it with curiosity, helped her to put it on the height of the side wall!

As they were walking, Toruna observed that two elderly men walked slowly side by side, leaning on their canes and talking as if the world belonged to only them. Their laughter carried softly in the air. Toruna thought about how friendship, even in old age, keeps the heart alive, how sharing stories can make time feel lighter … she wondered what might be the topics of their laughter!

Then, not far from them, a young girl crouched near the edge of the grass, feeding milk and biscuits to a few stray cats. The cats purred and brushed against her legs. Her sweet smile warmed Toruna’s heart, a small act of kindness in a noisy world …

A little further ahead, a young mother struggled with her two small children, one crying, the other running away. Toruna smiled at this sight of this young mother, remembering her own early days of motherhood. How young she had been, and ever since then, how her children had become her entire universe …

She and her son walked side by side, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. These walks had become their little ritual, good for both their minds and hearts …

That evening, they noticed a young boy walking slowly around the park. He looked a bit overweight and tired. Toruna said, ‘I’ve been watching that boy for a while.’ Her son nodded, ‘Yes, he comes here often. I’ve seen him too.’ Toruna felt a sadness for him. ‘I hope he feels better soon,” she said, ‘Life gives everyone some struggle that other people can never understand’ ….

As the sun began to fade, they left the park, stopping by the nearby general store to buy a few things before heading home. Toruna smiled to herself, ‘Tomorrow we’ll come again,” she thought, and surely, the path would have more stories waiting to be found …

.

.

Have you ever wondered, how many stories pass by us each day, unnoticed?

Behind her Sunglasses

She has always loved wearing sunglasses …

As a teenager, she would watch her sisters tilt their faces toward the light, their lashes casting long shadows over eyes that shimmered with beauty. When she looked in the mirror, her own eyes seemed smaller, plainer, framed by short lashes. It stung her heart a little, like a tiny splinter she couldn’t quite pull out …

Over time, she began to reclaim them. She traced deep kajol along her lids, soft & dark, like ink drawing a doorway. Her eyes lookd wider, more alive. People began to say she looked striking, and for the first time, her eyes felt truly hers …

Then life changed. Grief came quietly, like water filling a low space. In her reflection, she noticed it, the sparkle that once danced in her eyes had turned gentler, dimmer, like smoke fading after a flame. Her eyes began to carry stories of long nights and silent endurance. She didn’t always want others to read them …

So she reached for her sunglasses. The cool plastic rested against her temples, the tinted lenses washed the world in sepia. It felt like drawing a curtain over a window. Behind them, she had privacy. No one could see the sadness flicker and ask, “Are you okay?” …

She’s learned something through this little ritual, and that is, sometimes covering up isn’t vanity; it’s survival. The layers we wear, sunglasses, kajol, even a careful smile, are small stitches tht hold us togther until we’re ready to heal …

Sometimes, she still wonders: what would it feel like to step into the light barefaced, to let her eyes tell their truth, and to trust the world not to look away?


Her eyes carry stories the world is not
yet ready to read

I♥️

Bravery

Climb the hill
Then jump across the small gap
Bravery feels free …

Turona’s Mountain

There was a small village at the foot of a mountain. The village was called Shantipur. In that village lived a little girl named Turona. Every day, Turona would gaze at the big mountain from afar. In the morning, the mountain sparkled in golden sunlight, and by evening, it glowed in a soft reddish hue …

One day, Turona decided she would climb to the top of that mountain. Everyone said, ‘It’s too high, you won’t be able to.’ But Turona smiled and replied, ‘How will I know if I don’t try?’ …

The next morning, she set off with a bottle of water, some fruit, and a notebook. On the way, she grew tired, her feet ached on the stones, yet she didn’t stop. Sometimes she sat down to rest, listening to the sound of the wind and watching the birds fly …

Finally, after noon, she reached the top of the mountain. Looking down, she saw how beautiful her little village was, green fields, tiny houses, and a silver river flowing gently through it …

In her notebook, Turona wrote, ‘The joy of reaching the highest place only comes when you refuse to give up.’ …

Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled of freedom, and inside her heart, there was peace …

She realized that the real mountain wasn’t outside, but within her. And that day, she had conquered both …

How we used to write short stories when we were young! I remember how every night I’d make up stories to tell my little sisters before they fell asleep. I used to jot down bits of them in my notebook too. Often, I’d go up to our rooftop with that notebook, gazing at the distant sky until my thoughts drifted away. I wanted to write, and sometimes, I did. Other times, I simply got lost in my own imagination!

I’m sure it happened with you too!

Anyways, now tell me,
What is the ‘mountain’ in your own life that you’ve been afraid to climb?
Or tell me,
When was the last time you tried something even though others doubted you?

Villimalé

After arriving in Malé, my son and I took a short ride across the water on a cheerful little troller and arrived at Villimalé, a quaint residential island just a breath away from the city, yet carrying a world of its own. We really loved it from our first glance 

At Malahini Resort, we met quite a few Bangladeshi brothers. One of them was Anwar, from Cumilla. He would often talk to us and check in to see how we were doing. The day before we were to leave the resort, he found out that we’d be spending a day in the capital, Malé. That’s when he suggested, ‘You should visit Villimalé (Villingili). It’s really beautiful, peaceful beaches, and you’ll get a glimpse of how the locals live by the sea.’

My son and I decided to follow Anwar’s suggestion. And that’s how after arriving in Malé, we took a little time to check in and freshen up at the hotel and then set off for Villingili

Vilimalé greeted us like an old friend, quiet, colorful, and full of life in the most unassuming ways. We arrived in the afternoon, when the sun had begun to soften and the island was slowly waking up from its midday rest. We strolled along the beach, letting the rhythm of the waves guide us, and quickly realized that this wasn’t just a place, it was a gentle rhythm of living.

Everywhere we looked, there were tiny glimpses of humanity, sweet nothings, really, but the kind that make a place unforgettable. We saw two youngsters sitting on a swing, lost in deep conversation, as if the world around them had vanished. Just a little further down, two elderly citizens mirrored the same scene, also on a swing, equally absorbed in their own quiet exchange. It struck me how conversation, across generations, had found its sacred space here

The island had spaces carved out for everyone. Recreational areas were sprinkled thoughtfully across the land, inviting both the young and old to step out, breathe, and belong. As the sun began its descent, we saw more and more people emerging from their homes, children playing, families gathering near the shore, neighbors leaning against colorful walls exchanging daily stories. There was a profound simplicity in it all, a culture of connection, held together by time, tradition, and tide

One thing I adored was the palette of colors, houses in hues of blue, pink, and green added a joyful softness to the streets. Local buses trundled along quietly, connecting corners of the island, making life easier not just for tourists like us, but for the people who called this place home

At one point, I stopped by a humble juice stall and, with a bit of curiosity, asked the shopkeeper if he had any old coins to exchange for my Maldivian rufiyaa. To my surprise, he smiled warmly, searched through his collection, and found some for me. It wasn’t just a kind gesture, it felt like a small act of honor, a way of saying we see you, and we care. That exchange stayed with me; you know, respect can live in even the smallest interactions

Vilimalé may be a little island, but it left a great impression on us

True that beauty lives not just in landscapes or luxury, but in everyday warmth, in shared swings and sunset talks, and in the quiet magic of simply being present, with a place, and with someone you love

If you ever visit the Maldives, don’t forget to stop by the little island of Vilimalé. Whether you’re there for a stroll, a swim, or simply to slow down, Villimalé feels like a hidden corner of everyday island life

Luz

Light pours in like a gentle guest
She stands where warmth meets wonder
Paint in her hand, soft power in her stance
The table glows with quiet intention
Each colour catching a piece of the day …

#roksanatales

Luz
Spanish for ‘light’ ….

I♥️

Let Go, and Let Bloom
Mindful Drawing Moments by Jian Bird Creates

It’s so satisfying to host sessions like Mindful Drawing Moments’ – what began on a quiet day with a simple act of curiosity. I invited a few willing souls to join me in the pattern artworks I usually create to calm my mind and return to myself. One participant became two, and slowly, word spread. That’s how ‘Mindful Drawing Moments’ was born: gently, organically, like something blooming in its own time …

Since then, these sessions have become spaces where self-help and creativity meet. Through themes like Kaizen, Kintsugi, Manifestation, Self-Love, and Mindfulness, each gathering offers more than just art, it becomes a mirror, a soft release, a shared breath …

Our recent sessions, themed ‘Let Go and Let Bloom,’ invited participants to reflect through drawing wildflowers, free, untamed, purposeful. Dried flowers from my mother’s garden were placed on the table, not just for beauty, but as a quiet symbol: that even after loss or struggle, something fragile and meaningful can still remain …

The way the participants picked up color, poured their thoughts into shapes, and shared reflections was deeply moving. There was no pressure to be an artist, only an invitation to be present …

We began with simple prompts, one that echoed was: ‘Never mind what they’.
Almost all said: ‘think’.
And so the letting go began …

From releasing judgment to choosing kindness, from holding space for others to forgiving ourselves, each voice in the circle added something honest and real. The drawings bloomed with color, but more importantly, so did the people …

The session closed with open hearts and softened edges. And with each event, Jian Bird Creates now offers a Certificate of Participation, a small reminder that showing up for yourself is something to honor …

Warmly,
Roksana Amelia
Artist, Jian Bird Creates

Go My Way

Today, I poured watercolours onto the paper. I didn’t control the flow. I just let them move, soft, wild, honest …

It felt like life. Sometimes, it makes no sense. But still, I move with it. I let it run through me. I follow what feels true, even if no one else understands it …

Nothing made sense today. Nothing went as planned. But I chose to go anyway.
Go right. Go forward. Go my way …

Because even when nothing goes right,
I can still go right …
In my own way …

Jian Bird Creates, June, 2025

Someone

Someone said nothing and I still heard love …

I♥️

Étranger

Sometimes, I find myself simply observing those who seem ‘normal’, the way they speak, the words they choose to describe their experiences, how they react, or how they present their abilities with such careful confidence. Their ease in communication fascinates me, as if they instinctively know how to navigate social expectations.

At times, being among them makes me feel out of place, as if I exist on a different wavelength. Yet, I take myself lightly, even when they joke at my expense. I do not mind, because their amusement does not define me. In fact, I feel a strange sense of joy when they fail to understand me, because, deep down, that’s exactly what I prefer.

Those of us who are born different, who experience the world through a mind that society struggles to categorize, are often labeled with terms and diagnoses. But these labels do not define us. We are nature’s unique creation, wired to perceive life in ways they cannot grasp. And perhaps, they do not need to understand us.

Only a few people ever truly see us for who we are, and that is the rarest gift. The most powerful truth is that we are the ones who teach them how to understand us. It is not luck that allows them to connect with us, it is our choice to let them in. And for that, they are truly fortunate …

A tale from a psychologically challenged soul

Cherry blossoms in Ravenscourt Park, London

.

Étranger/ french
Meaning is ‘Stranger’. It reflects the sense of being apart from the norm, of existing on a different wavelength, and not being fully understood by society

I Have a Fondness …

I have a fondness for breaking apart
A fascination with the fragile
The delicate dance of hearts
Walking unsteadily on the edge …
In love …

I have a fondness for breaking apart
At times it seems
Love’s other name is
Broken hearts …
An echo of longing …
A symphony of cracks …

I have a fondness for breaking apart
In love, I find
A beauty in the fracture,
In the spaces …
Where light seeps through the wounds
Where the raw and the real collide
In a blaze of truth and tenderness …

I have a fondness for breaking apart
It’s a mosaic of
Shattered dreams
Pieced together with hope …
A courage of feeling
The audacity of connection …

I have a fondness
For the breaking …
For the way love demands vulnerability …
For the way it strips us bare …
For the way all its flaws are revealed
I have a fondness
For my unguarded heart
Breaking apart …

For in the breaking,
We find the depth of love
The resilience of the beautiful soul …
The beauty of a heart
That dares to love
Even knowing it might break …
That’s how I have a fondness
For breaking apart …

Love

You ask about my love
How deep it is for you …
And the extent of my affection …

My feelings are genuine
And my love is sincere
The moon symbolizes my love …

So tender was the kiss
That touched my heart
Such deep affection
Makes me yearn for you …

You ask about my love
How deep it is for you …
Reflect on this
And gaze above
The moon symbolizes my heart …

Srinagar, Kashmir

Pondering

In puzzled ponder, a name I’ve heard
Though “Roksana” my soul preferred …
Yet as time passed by
A fondness did arise
Love’s influence moves my heart …
Let the name be my tender song
In love’s embrace, I truly belong …

Quiet Contemplation

Your absence has gone through me, like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.”

Separation by W.S. Merwin

The Way of Rest

You cannot save anyone. You can be present with them, offer your groundedness, your sanity, your peace. You can even share your path with them, offer your perspective. But you cannot take away their pain. You cannot walk their path for them. You cannot give answers that are right for them, or even answers they can digest right now. They will have to find their own answers.

Jeff Foster

Nan Nikkeoya

My thoughts are scattered …
Oh dear!

Restless I feel …
My heart aches deeply …
He captivates my heart …

My thoughts are scattered …
Right now …
Oh dear!
I continually shatter my heart,
Dispersing its fragments
Until they touch
The depths of your being,
My beloved …

I Read It As

A university degree, four books, and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading, You write to me “good morning” and I read it as, “I love you” …

Mahmoud Darwish

Finding Joy

Desires unmet, dreams fade
Yet, gratitude fills the heart
Finding joy in what we have …

Discovering happiness doesn’t always involve fulfilling your desires.; it’s about cherishing what you already possess and expressing gratitude for it …

Finding Joy in life’s simple yet priceless pleasures, like

-relishing solitude at home
-preparing homemade meals
-writing letters in such era of emojis and instant messaging
-engaging in agenda less conversations with loved ones
-spreading joy with smiles and laughter
-lighting fragrant candles
-tending to plants, and
-expressing ‘I love you’ selflessly and unconditionally
-coming back to home by walking and appreciating the friendly neighbourhood and the beautiful surroundings with greenery and flower blossoming

And many more of such things ….

Please do share some of your small moments in which you find joy ….

In English We Say

In English we simply say
“I love you” …

In poetry we say
There’s a phrase that’s forever in view …
With a heart full of glee
It’s easy to see
That phrase, my dear, is “I love you!” …

The Poetry in That Girl

I reconnected with that girl anew –
Who once embraced life fully …
Who danced with every step and radiated joy
Whose eyes were some sunflowers, blooming
And whose soul ignited fireworks, dazzling …

I played music for that girl again …
In hopes that its melody would ignite her spirit within
Creating a haven for her to emerge from the shadows
And dance once more under the stars …

Knowing that she would find solace within these moments
With each sunset painted in hues of gold
And each gentle breeze whispering
Through the trees ….
I hoped to create a sanctuary where she could feel safe enough to reveal herself once again …

Deep within, I felt her presence stirring,
A flicker of recognition amidst the silence …
Longing for my kindness and effort that shimmered with possibility
I vowed to nurture her return
To guide her back into the light
Where she rightfully belonged ..
She belonged to the poetry within her …

Little Roksana

The pic is from the archive of memories of a young girl; another of her mirror image. She was travelling by train, from Kolkata to Delhi ….

It was an amazing journey!

Gunnen

On this day, he reflected, “I recall she used to attend her prayers for Jumma day.” …

On this day, she reminisced, “I recall he would probably meet the girl.” …

Today, he worried, “She has been feeling a bit unwell. Will she still be able to go to the mosque for her prayers? Perhaps she should rest today. Will she ever heed my advice?” …

Today, she pondered, “When will he meet the girl? Will it be in the evening? That would be preferable. It’s quite hot outside today; they might not feel comfortable meeting in such humidity. I hope their meeting goes well.” …

Despite feeling unwell again, she went to the mosque for Jumma prayer, then in the evening she prayed for him before falling asleep …

In the evening, he met the girl, and they enjoyed their time together, discussing their future life …

Throughout all this time, they remember their memories,
Yet they never announce their presence,
Simply flowing directly into their hearts …


I appreciate your prayers for me.

Tell me if there’s anything else you wish to put in this story ….

Gunnen/ dutch
(n.) to find happiness in someone else’s happiness because that’s how much you love them …

Agape

A self-portrait captured
In the window’s reflection …
Streets refreshed, cars in repose,
As the breeze sweeping by …
Your absence is there deep within,
Even in the hustle of life …
A smile graces my lips in this bustling race
Thinking of you ….
Contemplating ….
Life carries me well forward
With an unconditional love for you …

Agape/ greek
(n.) The highest form of love. Selfless, sacrificial and unconditional love; persists no matter the circumstance …

Wonderwall

Do you realize the depth of my longing, the relentless ache for your words that consumes me day after day?

As time slips away, I find myself bereft of the anticipation that you’ll come to me with your thoughts woven into words …

Every passing day feels like an eternity, a solitary bird yearning for the life-giving touch of rain …

I yearn for you incessantly, akin to a tearful child yearning for the comforting embrace of its mother …

My wait for you echoes the patience of a patient seeking their cure …

Do you understand the extent of my yearning, how it wraps around me like a heavy fog, casting shadows of melancholy and confusion?

You are a constant presence, flowing like a river, your thoughts swirling within me, sometimes quietly, always tumultuously …

I ache for you, as if my very spirit is on a quest to find you, while my physical self remains anchored in the depths of my heart, waiting …

I long for the days filled with twinkling moments shared between us, each one a precious gem amidst the vast expanse of time .

Wonderwall
(n.) someone you can’t stop yourself thinking about all the time; the person you’re completely infatuated with …

According to Gallagher, Wonderwall‘ describes ‘an imaginary friend who’s gonna come and save you from yourself; a source of support and strength; a soulmate …

Weathering

My dear,

Often these days
My thoughts are spreading out to you
With too many questions hovering upon me..
Is the heat too intense where you dwell?
Are you navigating it with ease?
What’s the moisture like in your realm?
What’s the humidity level there?
I sense the weariness in your words;
It seems like a struggle for you;
Are you truly alright?

Here, we’re also dealing with scorching heatwaves –
Yet, amidst the swelter, my mind wanders to you
How do you cope up in this relentless weather?
Often these days
It crosses my mind …

Do you think of me too,
Sometimes?

Do you remember my disdain for humidity,
And how it worsens my headaches ….
Do you remember my aversion to doctors,
Yet now they’re an inevitable part of life?

My heart, already broken by your absence,
Feels the toll of days passing …
I find myself overthinking,
Lost in thoughts of you,
Especially in these days,
Days of relentless heat,
Days of suffocating humidity ….

Though
You may never grasp …
There’s an essence about you that I can’t shake
Even amidst these sweltering heatwaves …
A grip on me akin to
The greatest tale left untold …

So,

Could you narrate an episode or two from your journey?
Could you paint a tale of your eccentric existence?
Could you recount an experience
For me?
To me?
In these sweltering heat
Amidst the scorching waves there? …

Meanwhile
Take care, my dear,
Know that I pray for you …
In every moment
In every humid day and night
Of these days ….

Yours truly
^^

I do drink lots of water in these scorching conditions. I do keep my body cool. Though I hate to use sunscreen, just I avoid sunburn. I do like coconut water a lot. And Nimbu Pani too ☺️. Then I love ice cream too 🤷🏿‍♀️

Do you?

Tacenda

My longing, a relentless tide
Your absence, a void deep inside ….
Am I flawed, or loved?

Tacenda
(n.) things better left unsaid

That Yellow

She paints grace
In glowing yellow …
As the brush-strokes
Softly glide through her skin …
Hers is a delicate face
Soothing and serene;
Tread with a gentle touch
In colors unseen ..
That yellow color girl
In tranquil pose ..
She’s a grace …

Yellow is my favourite color … which color do you like most?

Ethereal

Connected, unseen thread binds,
Across time, place, situations unwind …
Stretched, tangled, yet resilience found,
Improbable love, unbroken, and profound …

What It Is

It is madness
says reason
It is what it is
says love …

It is unhappiness
says calculation
It is nothing but pain
says fear
It has no future
says insight
It is what it is
says love …

It is ridiculous
says pride
It is foolish
says caution
It is impossible
says experience
It is what it is
says love …

What it is by Erich Fried

Love this poem and read it many times. Do you love such poems?

I love many of them …

First and foremost, allow me to share Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 43, ‘How Do I Love Thee?’

It begins with the iconic lines:

‘How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways…’

These two lines alone contain volumes of meaning, and I find myself revisiting them often …

There’s another poem, I love, and that is ‘Hope’ by Emily Dickinson

‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all’ …

I may not be good at recitation, but I have a deep passion for reading and appreciating the intricate artistry of language. The way words are arranged to evoke emotions, convey wisdom, and capture the essence of life, love, and nature resonates deeply with me. It’s in these moments, amidst the twists and turns of expression, that I find myself enamored with the beauty of language and the emotions it encapsulates …

See, when you read ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ by Robert Frost, won’t you just love this famous poem?

‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep’ …

Here’s another eloquent excerpt from the renowned poem ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost:

‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.’

This poem resonates deeply with me and holds a special place in my heart, as I often find myself reflecting on its message of making pivotal choices that shape one’s journey.

I have a profound admiration for another poem, namely ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’ Its expression conjures the sense of companionship, as if the lover is spiritually present, ensuring one is not alone:

‘Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky’ …

Isn’t it beautiful?

I’m certain many of you appreciate these poems. There are numerous others, but I’d like to share just a few of my absolute favorites with you all, such as ‘Leisure’ by William Henry Davies:

‘What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare …
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.’

To selectively share excerpts from the poem is my means of conveying:

Please delve into the poems I’m presenting here—
read them when solitude surrounds you,
read them in the company of your beloved,
read them among friends,
read them with strangers,
read them in tranquility,
read them amidst chaos …
but above all, I hope you
read them in their entirety …

Read

Sharing one of my recent painting video from ‘Chaos’ series. Hope you may like it. Also I tried to read the poem ‘What It Is’. Hope you would like listening to it as well ….

And also please do share here about your favourite poems …..

Musings

Reflect on
‘Who are you going to be’
From
‘What are you going to do? ….

You know you want to do right things.
Then if you know who you are going to be, then
You’ll choose to be KIND in whatever you do.

It is said, ‘“If you have the choice between being right and being kind, choose being kind”, a quote taken from American philosopher, Dr. Wayne W. Dyer.

This quote makes me think about the impact of kindness on other people’s lives …

Consciously choose to be kind …

Just was getting ready to take a picture in front of Buddha Dordenma Statue but the click was done just like that! So an untimely mistake of a moment gone by – captured … but they say nothing is untimely … everything happens at its own pace and in its own time …

Love it ♥️