Gooseberry
Morning, minding its business. May two-four debris scattered to the wind. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
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River Running
The river clears its throat. Shimmies right, then left. The children’s cold fingers pulling at its coat sleeves. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Farmer’s Dance
Bent to the sickle and feet in the grain. The whole country moves to the rhythm of the rain. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN
Sherpa Dance
“The sherpas are alert for ways in which to be of use… their dignity is unassailable, for the service is rendered for its own sake — it is the task, not the employer, that is served. As Buddhists, they know that the doing matters more than the attainment or the reward, that to serve in…
Threshing machine
I stumble out of a vintage Mercedes to hunker in the stubble, blend into the background like a roman candle, tape recorder tipped in your general direction. You catch my eye as if to say that this spilling of the fruit is only part of it, the grains under your feet and in the cracks…
Banging Brass
The back streets of Bhaktapur run and run: feet in rice, and hands in black clay, the city labours under harvest. Hand-pressed brick posing for the next natural disaster. These girls, elbows linked: their unbreakable chain. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN
The Hawkers
Big shoes to fill, he of the blue eyes and nut brown skin, counting his knuckles for sums and pawing for change. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Atlas goes paddling
Plunge and pull, your paddle the best of you, your arms reaching — elbow, wrist, fist — into the black. And the boat cuts on. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN