Himalaya (Part II )

I met her somewhere in the foothills
she was seated in front of her bamboo-hut
basking in a January sun
her fingers nimbly weaving
pattern flowers

I was a traveler
fatigued by wintry winds

She queried my whereabouts
her voice sounding like that of faraway souls

Her eyes glittery and lucent
resembled those of a sculpture
carved from ice

In the intensifying silence
I envisioned cold death of a thousand
wingless words

I stammered
gave her a muffled reply
and she laughed out loud

And then there was an avalanche