Not a single soul exists on earth, whose memories do not associate with this Gulmohar tree. There stood one, way back in my childhood, right in our front yard.
Many mornings, these vibrant orange blooms are what we wake up to. Lazy forenoons are spent passing the time with the blossoms of the season, whereas the afternoons are occupied with some reading to do under the shades of the fern-like leaves. Evenings are as well welcomed along with the people back home from work, and gradually from good-night whispers to sound sleep, enters the silent night. Round the clock, we love engaging ourselves near this tree.
And boy! The spring brings the exuberance of this tree in it’s full bloom which leaves us with so much to talk about, yet speechless.
Leaves, when they shed, are tied together which help in brooming up the wide landscape which the tree has redefined into a sea of orange petals. And yeah, the petals and the buds serve as the soft and long nails protruding from the fingers. It always had something to offer.
The days lost count. This tree has been a part of our life, had become one of us, the bond with it has developed so much so that somehow it’s mere presence is sufficient to uplift the mood. Such is it’s deep-rooted positioning. Such is it’s profound existence in each of our lives.
It’s with us everywhere, above our head, right at our feet. Around us all the time.