It’s the time of June and the leaves are green. She’s 23 now, standing tall by the French windows in a long blue skirt.
She thinks about the Acacia trees back home and the faint light in the hallroom. A cowshed, where a slim snake had meandered on the wall when the cows were out in the grass so green.
Her mother told her, the home was a darling with some young friends and cousins from neighbourhood as her Aunt, father’s sister, cooked the best dishes. She heard stories about her Aunts’ who were in the house before she was born; of how they went for a walk together in their floret nighties, watching the Panicgrass blow in the direction of wind. And sit in the shade by the paddy fields to watch the evening sun.
Her girlhood was all about climbing the hills for Jamuns and Carandas. And for rainfall.
So when it is a month of June and the leaves are green, she’s young again with memories from a six year old.