The sun was blazing, sweat was trickling down his body in small rivulets, sudden gusts of winds even though hot were soothing his body. He took a few steps back and looked at the rock… perfect!
He cocked his head from side to side before deciding that it is placed exactly where, how he wanted to place it. He turned back and went down the hill to work.
Next morning he heard his supervisor exclaim and expertly hid his chuckle.
“What in the God’s name is that? Who did that?” he was staring at the rock he has placed on the top of the hill, using his magic glue.
Centuries passed by, railroads now ran beside that hill, a little girl was sitting on one, with her nose pressed to the window.
“Look mama! Look at that rock!” she tugged her mother’s sleeve reading a novel.
“It must be Hercules!” she said.
“Maybe Hanuman or Bhima?” her father chuckled from the seat across. “After all, they are the locals right?”
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butterflies from life’s garden a collection of poems