Summer snow and show biz

 I got up today , to find my backyard flooded with summer snow. 

No, it is not the conventional snow . It doesn't melt in the sun . 

It rests like puffs of tiny clouds , lightly treading the burning earth . 

Each fistful of fluff , is roughly round and has attached to it , a tiny , hard , black seed like a miniscule paratrooper attached to his parachute .

Indeed , just like a paratrooper,  the seed has to be dispersed . Into new , unexplored territories . To foray , explore, germinate .

They all  fly out together , just like snow . All the tree pods having decided upon bursting  at 0345 hrs on 16 th of April at the count of three . 

I got up and saw my backyard covered in these tiny parachutists . 

The giant Shimul tree ,  the erstwhile flame of the forest , the producer of the flashiest red flowers of the forest , had been nursing a platoon of these paratroopers in its heart . Encased in wooden , black spindle pods , the seeds mature and so does the silk cotton . Till one day , they decide to bombard your backyard. 

All at once , the Trojan horse bursts open it's wooden doors and the seeds are scattered .

It is nothing short of miraculous . It is tantamount to an aesthetic war on the senses . 

First the leaves drop off during winter , till the tall tree stands proudly in its naked avatar . Like a Rodin sculpture . You should see it's buttress roots , all exposed as the undergrowth withers away due to winter onslaught .

The bare branches rise to the skies . Seeking supplication . Then , one spring day , it bursts into fleshy red blossoms . Only the floral decor . All flowers , no leaves .

They are tall gigantic trees . Head and shoulders above the rest . The red corona is visible from miles away, earning the moniker ," flames of the forest". 

This happens somewhere around Holi, the festival of colours , the flowers provide colours. 

Then tiny pods appear . The Trojan horses. They begin green and naive . Then they turn hard and wooden . Then one fine day they crack open. 

For a long time , these cotton fluffs linger . Stuck in the wire netting , snuggled in your kitchen duster , hugging your tomato plants. 

They are everywhere, and we scarcely see them. 

They even disintegrate into fibers , enter our nostrils , trigger sneezing bouts and precipitate allergies . But we still don't acknowledge them .

Bombax Ceiba is the botanical name given to the silk cotton tree . They are the show biz giants and Brad Pitts of the forest Broadway . 

In a mere couple of seasons , they give us three back to back shows . One sleazy , full of skin show , next a colourful, floral  musical , family drama ; finally , a war movie full of  Trojan horses and parachutists .

Take your pick .