Wild flowers

The backyard of my in-laws' home in Kalyani had always been a wild garden. There were lofty trees forming a canopy of green. It was like the high ceiling of an wood - elfin hall, ever translucent, with bits of sunshine sipping through. The tree trunks evenly spaced to form mighty columns. The floor was a carpet of young green grass. Thousands of little wild flowers in hundreds of shades formed a luxurious, aromatic embroidery. And as you would walk under those trees, humming a long lost tune, ever so cautious not to crush the little insect colonies bustling with life in the very fabric of garden, you would feel the velvety softness of the grass on your bare feet, and hear the flowers and the leaves creating a sweet harmony in echo of your song.