Late afternoon,

I ran towards the standing jeep

going to my village holding

a dripping umbrella

over my wet hair.

The rusty hinges of the Jeep

creaked as I pulled the

passenger door and hopped in

next to the drivers’ seat.

Through the mist up windshield,

I watched the grassy slope

of the land shift as the

Jeep sped down east of Birtamod.

At Fikkal, the bus pulled

to a stop near hilltop hotel

for an afternoon tea. The

winter tea garden rolled

changing its view

on the rolling landscapes.

A short while later, the driver

throttled up the engine as the road

began to slope uphill and bend

towards the main route

into the city. The Ilam city emerged

from the thinning fog but the gust of wind.

continue to push it

over the rolling hills of Ilam.