Colour of the Seasons

Colour of the Season

(1)

The winter has begun from the 1^st of June officially in Australia. I wonder, if the season does follow the calendar. It is safe to say, the season has its own subtle way to make transition. As I see in my suburb Ingleburn, far flung from Sydney city, the winter season is full on, its icy cold grip complete. But the season is not all about brute cold and unforgiving weather. It has its own elements to enchant on-lookers. The gradual change in colours of the season and in the mood of the sky with all-encompassing blue or wandering clouds is a joy to watch.

Carinda Street in Ingleburn where I live features a wide variety of trees and plants: Eucalyptus, Acacia, Maple Leaf and so on. Many of them I am not familiar with even. I heard Eucalyptus has about seven hundred species grown across Australia. However, one Maple Leaf tree on the other side of the road opposite to my house captured my imagination from the onset of this autumn.

My septuagenarian neighbour Carol lives in a house on the other side of our road, with the Maple Leaf tree just few yards away from the entrance of her house. Carol is single and has a very quiet presence in our neighbourhood. But she is the owner of an eye-catching flower garden in her front-yard as well as in her back-yard. The garden hosts a variety of rose plants that outshine the presence of other seasonal flowers. From distance that garden would appear to belong to roses only.

In the middle of the front garden she put on a name plate, Ruby Rose Cottage.  Carol at some point of our societal deleberation on the street revealed that she inherited the house from her mother Ruby. I am not sure whether she also inherited the name with the house or she named it in remembrance of her mother.

Carol has been living in this neighbourhood for more than fifty years. All single houses of the neighbourhood probably belong to that era. She has got two sons who live far south of Sydney in country side, a region called Southern Tableland. They come to see their mother occassionnaly, particularly, during X-mass and Easter.

When the fall season came along, cool afternoon gave way to cold evening, and I was able to feel the impending winter season. That Maple Leaf tree has embarked on a nature’s swan song of colour already then. Its green foliage gradually turned maroon, then shining yellow with light texture, as if enacting a slowly progressing drama, of which I became an avid spectator. Just before the fall to the ground, the tree leaves took on a lifeless yellow colour. As the winter breeze blew across and caressed the lifeless leaves, they shivered and then waltzed like butterfly down to the ground. Now the almost half-bare poor Maple Leaf tree would wait for the remaining leaves to fall down, then helplessly wait in silence for the spring to come to restore it to the former glory of green foliage.

(2)

Today it felt icy cold in the morning. The sky extending all the way to the horizon seemed to have been shrouded by an opaque dome of mist. The sun retreated behind the dome of mist; from time to time it came out and scattered photons of light; only to make crave for more light. The fallen leaves from the Maple Leaf tree made a circular bed and many of them were driven by the winter breeze all along the ground by leaps and bound. Most of them gathered on the roadside gutter and crowded the steel wire fences of the road side houses. The fallen leaves have gone down to the fences of Ruby Cottage as well.

I saw Carol gathering the fallen leaves by a broom. She tried to do her work by herself including gardening, except for lawn mowing, for which she would hire a professional land mower.

I thought Carol was bit struggling with the gathering of leaves. I went forward with the intention of helping her, ‘Carol, do you like me to give you a hand?’

Carol said, ‘Thanks, Faruk, let me do my work. This bloody Maple Leaf is annoying because of the dead leaves; I wish they all fall of soon and leave me in peace.’

‘You may not be angry with this Maple Leaf any more’, I said, ‘the days of the fall would be over soon, you see, hardly there are any leaves left!’

Carol had a look at the almost bare Maple Leaf tree, then put off the gathering and retreated back into the Ruby Rose Cottage.

Our suburb has been experiencing a change in demographical outlook. Large multicultural people have moved in with a surge in population. There had been a rush for buying properties in our area. Old independent houses had been demolished to make room for the new duplex, even, triplex buildings. People living for decades are moving out and new people are moving in. The new comers are all multicultural people: Indian, Nepalese, Bangladeshis, all from the migrant community; Bangladeshis are pouring in dominant numbers. The number of cars parked on roadside are rising dramatically; frequent sale notices hung on the properties on both sides of the road that kept the real estate people very busy.

I can recall Carol was disappointed when she heard about my move to Brisbane to start a new job leaving behind my family. Pre-occupation of migrant people with search for livelihood could be overriding, which sometime cannot be understood by the Aussi people. Carol felt assured learning that I was not taking my family with me. The dwindling white Anglo-Saxon people in the suburb probably worried Carrol. She confided to me once, ‘I wish I have more neighbours like you!’

I understood Carol looked at us differently because we, my wife Salma and I met and talked to her, which was regarded very well by Carol. We were both passionate about gardening. When we met on the road we talked about many things with open heart. The old people in many countries like Australia looked forward to talk and spend time with whoever might be, coloured or white, which was hard to come by, because everybody was busy.

Whenever, I had come over to Sydney to spend time with my family, we met most of the times on road or cottage fence and spent some time between us talking. She used to say jokingly to me sometimes, ‘I hope Salma is giving you enough time and feeding you all good foods. Once she said, ‘Run fast home to gorge on the food platters set by Salma.’

Carol would wax her love for flowers, particularly of her garden. Sometime she would talk to us about the different kinds of flower in her front and back-yard and try to make me familiar about her favourite flowers. Once she took me to her back-yard. In her back-yard she had organised her flower plant beds and put on a seating arrangement, which looked so beautiful in the morning sun, I simply craved for spending time in her back-yard every morning. Once when she heard about my wife’s sickness, she sent her a flower bouquet gathered from his back-yard garden.

So far we never visited each other’s home, we had engaged in talking on the road, fence side and in the garden. I couldn’t venture out to invite her to our home for a coffee. We were careful not to go beyond our comfort zones. Perhaps we didn’t understand each other well enough.

(3)

After five years’ of life in Brisbane, I moved back to Sydney. I saw her once than standing in her rose garden wrapped in over coat warming herself in the sunshine. I found her little bit wrought, with wrinkles on her face visible enough. I approached her, ‘How are you Carol?’

‘The weather is changing and flu is bothering me a lot,’ she said. ‘You know my antibiotic dose is running for the third time. I feel as if this flue would drag me to my grave. Every year, I take vaccine, they hardly make me immune, and I had to gulp down loads of antibiotics.’

I enquired, ‘Is somebody beside you?’

‘My son Bob came to see me from Mittagong. I sent him back from my front yard warning not to be with me now. I told him, this flu could be contagious, so better not come in my contact, rather keep in touch with me over phone. You know, he wanted me to live with him, but I am not ready to leave my Ruby Rose Cottage that bears the loving memory of my mother. Many people are moving out from this place and I would not. I would rather straight away go to my grave than take shelter in an old home.’

I thought Carol was unhappy, made worse by the flue, therefore, I didn’t venture to spend more time with her. ‘Goodbye Carol’ I said to her and came back home.

(4)

 The winter days are progressing; sometime bringing severe cold mornings. One day I was travelling by train to the city. While in the train, I found the golf course adjacent to the railway track shrouded with thick layer of mist. I felt as if my eyesight lost its way through the water droplets of the mist. While I was walking to our local rail station Ingleburn to catch the train to the city, I found frost flakes accumulated on the grass-cover by the side of footpath. I loved watching dews crowning the green grass pricks, that glittered brilliantly with the first sunlight of the morning. But the icy frost denied me that pleasure. The short Magnolia tree near the fence of Ruby Rose Cottage has bared itself of all the leaves and stood like a shameless naked maiden. A few buds adored one or two branches as if they had woken up from slumber and warming up for a glorious winter blossom. It would soon create a bonanza of pinkish Magnolia flowers.

I didn’t see Carol for quite some time; she usually would not come out, when it was very cold in the morning. Sometime she did in late morning, when it was warm enough outside. I could imagine she was either watching TV in her drawing room or trimming her rose garden in her back-yard. Or perhaps lost in her inner world, reminiscing her life spent.

After some days all on a sudden, I found the Magnolia tree fronting the fenced Ruby Rose Cottage in full bloom with purple flowers adorning the bare branches of the tree. The roses in the front yard garden of Carol were still smiling, defying the cold morning.  In the streaming brilliant sun-light the blue sky seemed to stretch for eternity. The whole world seemed to be drunk with the sunlight from heaven. All around I could listen to boundless silent music rippled across the earth and air.

I came out of my home with the faintest hope of seeing Carol in her front-yard garden. It didn’t happen. Then I went across the road to have a closer look at the Magnolia tree in full bloom. I touched petals of a few roses with a soft hand, taking care they didn’t fall off. From my heart I wished Carol well and mumbled, ‘Have a good day Carol.’ I wished she could hear me from the inside of her home.

I saw a flock of pigeons in flight that was rhythmically changing direction all the time.  A pair of doves on the electric line was fornicating with each other. I started walking under the lovely sun, as if I was on a perpetual journey, like the eternal life.