Dear Reader,

I wake with a sense of unease. The weather has turned, and outside my window I see blue skies and the sun.

But I feel overwhelmed. I must chase an errant electrician who has taken an advance from me and will not take my calls. I must inspect plumbing, choose wood polish, buy water tanks and wires. And I have done none of these things, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. What’s worse is the cherry and apricot trees I planted last year have died. It was the weeks of water logging, the man at the nursery said.

But then I step out to walk to the Manali Mission Hospital. My way lies through a pine forest. It is quiet. There is a chill in the air. Sunbeams fall on the path ahead of me, filtering through deodar cedar trees that rise 100 feet into the sky.

There is no one around at this early hour, so I stop for my favourite ritual. I step off the path and up to a cedar tree, a deodar that has stood for centuries. I lean my face against its rough, ancient bark, and the thought flashes: this tree has survived monsoons that would have killed my fragile cherry and apricot trees. Maybe it is more hardy. Its roots are deep, connected to the roots of the trees in the forest around it, holding it........

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