Goodness I love spring. Birds are chirping on the regular, waking me up, nature's alarm clock early in the morning. A mulberry tree outside my house, ripe with blackish purple berries, entices me everyday for a breakfast of fresh bananas, berries, yogurt, honey and meusli. The local honey, of course, helps to fight the springtime allergies.
Bees and their hives hang high from the thick branch of a tree adjacent to the local chai wallah on the corner of my block. Reminiscent of the upper deck at Shea Stadium, thousands of them fan their hive with a synchronized wave to rid unwanted parasites. The trunk is alive with honey makers as well, they dart in and out of the cold dank space they call home, searching for pollen to be turned into flowing liquid gold.
Rain comes every so often and nourishes the fertile soil in the Doon Valley and the higher Himalayan hills. There are wildflowers growing everywhere, both here in the city and in the small villages everywhere in this country.
The big red flowers are Burass. When a handful of them are boiled in water and then sweetened with honey, the taste is just too good. The little white flowers sit on the side of the wall and watch the slow life of the village pass by.
Love to all.