The yellow light of street lamp filtered through the branches of the grand old tree. It painted a carpet on the street with lovely black and white reticulated rangoli. The continuous hum of insects from all directions with the grand canopy covering the entire street corner made it look like a theatre stage all set for another evening performance.

The leaves nodded to the gentle breeze, birds perked up and fluttered their wings, squirrels raced joyfully upwards and a dry leaf fell twirling joyfully all the way down. Flocks of birds flew in a formation, shapely dark clouds floated, whilst the moon struggled to peek from behind. Far away, a jagged lightning streaked followed by a majestic cymbal of thunder, and tiny drops fell through the leaves on the rangoli realising the sweet earthy smell. One of the streetlights flickered continuously like a strobe on the stage. 

Young lovers on a parked bike in the far dark corner whispered sweet-nothings, a bored security guard at the entrance of an apartment puffed on his beedi, a middle aged man was busy talking on phone as he went about his evening walk and impatient drivers honked incessantly on the main road, all oblivious to the nature’s daily evening performance.

The tree of many summers puts up a wonderful performance every evening unmindful whether anyone watches it or not.
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At the street corner near my house, the grand old tree puts a lovely performance every evening. A brilliant play of shadows intermixed with nature’s sounds garnished with lovely weather and topped sometimes with shiny drops.