The sound of brooms sweeping at dawn. A little girl waves from the back of her father’s motorbike. Women in a tuk-tuk blow kisses as they speed past on. Three boys wave me over while I struggle up a hill. We sit. They offer me rice and chicken their mother made. Early morning, a truckdriver squatting by the side of the road, brushing his teeth, greeting me with his hand, smiling with foam around his mouth. A boy follows me on his motorbike, just to give me an orange. Brightly dressed women walk toward me, one holding a goat. We smile. Surrounded by pine trees, fingers dancing upon a flute. A quiet garden, a young couple, a baby, and space for my tent. (from; cycling in India)