The saree in the chair

The saree sat in the chair in folds. In a fold of time. The wearer sat elsewhere in a fold of time.

The chair sits in its own fold,prim and proper. Unless moved it’s stillness is  a fold.

My fold is my knot, into which I go along with the old man who has kept a plastic bag beside me on the stillness of a green bench in the park. The green bench is in the folds of park time.

The old man calls the bench his own fold. He shares my bench being in the same fold. But he has gone walking. He has kept his plastic bag to call the bench his own fold. We will be in the same fold for five minutes.

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