18-95-200

You book a room on the top floor for a meeting. It isn't one of those highrises in downtown. The room overlooks the green terrace. There is a wooded balcony extending on to the terrace with a bench to sit on. At a distance are the pine trees, bottle green. And beyond them, lining two-thirds of the horizon are the snow-capped peaks. You watch them. Downstairs during tea an elderly lady plays the harp. There is no one in the room, no one giving her direct attention but the effect of the music is visible on all who are near. You are drawn by the music. It stops you in your tracks.

As evening draws in, the clouds part. It is a deep shade of blue. The brain by compensating, deceives, rendering colours close to natural. The camera, a brainless thing does not lie. Strong warm casts fail. I like blue. The vast empty road, lined by poplars, stretches out. Evening lights are on. It is my favourite time of the day and there are lakes. The busy day ends in music and in silence.

Larger.