Thinking of the Amaltaas

Amaltaas , Amaltaas tree . Full and blossoming. Exploding with yellow, almost golden. In the scorching heat of the northern Indian June. On a small, sweaty, melted street. Till the eyes can reach. Overwhelming the senses. Hazing my eyes with its florescent outbursts. Flooding my nose with the delicate lacy sweet scent. Of the Amaltaas. Millions and millions of dragonflies. Buzzing , going crazy. The buzzing yellow amaltaas street. Butterflies fluttering. The fluttering , tiny , little , yellow amaltaas street. The birds chanting and screaming and and shouting. So many sounds. Layers and layers and layers of sounds, mingling and mating. Sounds, colours, smells, all playing. The passerbys'. People. Fast, slow, silent, talking, lost, present. Rickshaws, the cycles, the s coo ters, the cars, the buses. Dogs. Cows. People. Sweating. Under the clear blue sky, on a hot summer day. June. On the yellow amaltaas street. Somewhere in Punjab.

This is what an Amaltaas tree looks like :
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassia_fistula