An eye upon a feather
by Allan W. Traphagan
As the lonely blue peacock sits upon a high palm frond, he picks at the red mud on his feet. The Monsoons have flown over the himalyan snow caps, and the red mudd has already started to bake in the magenta sun through crystal clean air. Even the smokey cities have been thoroughly washed with the season, and soon the tourists will be arriving to ride upon sacred cows. The sun is hotter now and the clods of red mud, kicked up by the lumbering water buffalo, are cracking open from the steaming heat. Inside, white eggs roll out and hatch like popcorn., revealing new blue and green gods to rival Vishnu and Krishna. Peacock doesn't care, nothing can ever rival his beauty, as the brilliant dawn fades behind the Taj Mahal.