My house is at Nadapuram village in Kerala. The house made up of woods and stones which gives cool air inside is entirely different from the modern cement buildings. My father embraced death years back in this same ancestral house where remains endless memories. A brook is flowing still in my heart of heart gleaming in the starry night though my father is laid to rest in the graveyard of the old Masjid near my house. Elegant smile, benign look, I still feel the power of his silence. The central pillar, wooden thresholds and arm chair of my father in my home give me a different feeling. Coconut trees around my house and number of plantains touch my deeper self. I often go and sit among the plantains, especially during the evenings; often my seat is the same arm chair of my father. Mango, areca nut, tamarind, guava, papaya and jack trees are also abundant around of my house. There are also beautiful woods nearby. I recollect the verses from the American poet, Robert Frost often “The trees that have it in their pent up buds/To darken nature and be summer woods/Let them think twice before they use their powers/To blot out and drink up and sweep away/These flowery watery and these water flowers/From snow that melted only yesterday/. The tone of the poem becomes grave. I feel here the possibility of danger with the beauty of nature. This is one of the differences I find between Robert Frost and William Wordsworth. With nature, happiness and sorrow play hide and seek in my life and at last the experiences of life purge me and reinforce me to face the fickleness of life.