Spring is here. With all it's festivities. India does not see much of this season. At the same time, this season is lovely.
Spring is when the trees flower, bathing the environment in vibrant hues. Golden yellow, pale pink, orange, red colour flowers, adoring trees. Brightening up the tarred road, with soft petals. Dead leaves on the ground, fallen after a year long stay on trees. Making way for young green leaves.
During spring, the road leading to my house from school used to be decorated with fragile pink flowers. The sanctity of which would be lost, with a single harried touch. Cubbon Park used to glow, with flowers, especially near the Public Library, the Vidhana Soudha ad the High Court. Many photos have been shot, owing their beauty to splendid flowers.
With cuckoos cooing, a suitable background music, for the riot of colours. It's amazing how we can mimic cuckoos, and the result is always favourable. Continuing the exercise of replying to each other, untill, i get tired of the pleasant game. Two or more cuckoos trying to outdo the other, all in the name of mating.
The whispers of dry leaves follow our footsteps.... new leaves adorn barren trees..... planting seedlings in ploughed soil..... celebrating harvest festivals ... the sun making it's presence felt... the weather becoming warm..... the sky- an enchanting blue, with fluffy-cottony clouds floating..... squirrels running past you... sparrows chirp to grab your attention et al, attempt to tell us that spring is here.
Spring is here indeed. I failed to notice it, but the cuckoo informed me this morning.