A Muddy Ground Covered With Tiny Fallen Flowers

Countless golden flowers of the Narra tree pour down like rain every time the wind blows on a dark May afternoon, bathing the air with sweet scent and soothing the hearts of the weary.
When we were little, my friends and I usually went out and played under the rain until we caught colds and our lips turned to violet. Beneath our bare feet laid a muddy ground covered with tiny fallen flowers. Some were still golden and others were already turning into dust. Yet all of them still gave the same sweet smell that has continued to fascinate us until now. Under the huge Narra tree we laughed aloud, we danced like crazy, we played like there’s no tomorrow, and we talked about useless things that we ever thought of. Inside our innocent hearts, each of us had felt that we wanted to stay like that forever. Everyone was afraid to grow up, and nobody ever spoke of change.
As I am playing the same scene repeatedly in my head, a growing nostalgia of my childhood memories begins to seize me. How can life be so different now when it seemed we were only children yesterday? Gone were the flowers that pour down with the rain. Numerous leaves now cover the ground where we once played on, decaying like unburied corpses of some forgotten holocaust victims. The sweet smell of air is now contaminated with the acrid smoke of burning leaves, drawing tears down the eyes of whoever passes by that tree.
Summer has indeed ended in our quiet little town. This rainy season always reminds me of the happy days that had passed in a blink of an eye. Those days are forever lost in time, and yet somehow inside me there’s still a strong urge to bring them back. But the tiny falling flowers are gone – and so is the brief illusion that had made a fool out of our young minds.