The comforting croak of the frogs at night.
The sound of rain on a tin roof.
Women walking in kurtas, veils trailing.
Hennaed hands on the first of Saun.
Temples like mushrooms in the unlikeliest of places.
Mild-mannered dogs, neither tame nor wild, sleeping in intersections.
Ducklings waddling down the center of the street.
Chicks milling about the gate.
Spindly legged men herding cows.
Bamboo ladders and scaffolding.
Rice fields in terraces, corn everywhere else.
Squash vines climbing house and garden walls.
Flowers from my homeland by the side of the road.
The rare glimpse of the god-mountains overlooking the valley.
Women driving trucks and buses.
Men balancing wares on bicycles.
Giant metal baskets of mangos.
Fortune-tellers lounging on the sidewalks at Ratna Park.
Women fanning roasted corn at corners.
The red- and the orange-robed.
The dark, dirty, and ragged, red-robed monk who lives at Boudha.
Ankle bracelets and toe-rings.