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durga puja text
created Sep 26th, 05:54 by chiranjit1996
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317 words
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I wonder whether the old mill still stands as it did, hidden from view by a
thick clump of shade trees. Every summer when we visited my uncle, aunt,
and cousins at their farm, going down to explore the old mill was one of our
favourite occupations. Perhaps it appealed to us children so much because we
had been instructed never to go there. The grown ups felt it was a decrepit,
unsafe place and cautioned us to stay away from it. This only added to our
trips the extra thrill that goes with forbidden fun.
We would finish our farm chores early-collecting eggs, weeding the
vegetable garden, and feeding the live-stock. Then my two cousins, my sister,
and I would hurry down the winding road. It was an asphalt road that grew
extremely hot under the bright noon-day sun. I remember that it would burn
our feet through the rubber soles of our sneakers making us skip quickly
along. We never minded this discomfort, however. We would run down the
road, spurred on by the excitement of our trip. Soon we turned off into a
narrow dirt path. Up a small rise, around a bend, and there, under a cluster of
elms, stood the abandoned mil.
It was a wooden building, approximately the size of a barn. It had never
been painted, and its aged wood was now dark brown. Two very large doors
had fallen from its side; all the window panes, too, had been missing for
many years. Through the various openings we could see the dark, shadowy
interior, with glinting sunlight showing here and there. Up the seven rotting
steps we would run, and there we were inside the old place at last.
Straw covered the whole floor, and several empty grain sacks lay folded in
one of the corners. On the walls, yellowing posters announced the
programme of a summer stock company.
thick clump of shade trees. Every summer when we visited my uncle, aunt,
and cousins at their farm, going down to explore the old mill was one of our
favourite occupations. Perhaps it appealed to us children so much because we
had been instructed never to go there. The grown ups felt it was a decrepit,
unsafe place and cautioned us to stay away from it. This only added to our
trips the extra thrill that goes with forbidden fun.
We would finish our farm chores early-collecting eggs, weeding the
vegetable garden, and feeding the live-stock. Then my two cousins, my sister,
and I would hurry down the winding road. It was an asphalt road that grew
extremely hot under the bright noon-day sun. I remember that it would burn
our feet through the rubber soles of our sneakers making us skip quickly
along. We never minded this discomfort, however. We would run down the
road, spurred on by the excitement of our trip. Soon we turned off into a
narrow dirt path. Up a small rise, around a bend, and there, under a cluster of
elms, stood the abandoned mil.
It was a wooden building, approximately the size of a barn. It had never
been painted, and its aged wood was now dark brown. Two very large doors
had fallen from its side; all the window panes, too, had been missing for
many years. Through the various openings we could see the dark, shadowy
interior, with glinting sunlight showing here and there. Up the seven rotting
steps we would run, and there we were inside the old place at last.
Straw covered the whole floor, and several empty grain sacks lay folded in
one of the corners. On the walls, yellowing posters announced the
programme of a summer stock company.
