We went to buy flower pots, my aunt and I, yet for her the time we spent was the gift, as if she took those memories of our laughter and love and put them in the pot itself. She said that the pots we bought together grew the best flowers, that the colours were brighter and the aroma sweeter.
Those bangles were my aunt, I guess that's a silly way to say it. But they were the liberty of her spirit somehow, the light from their rainbow hues matching the light in her heart and soul. They would make a sound that was a sort of laughter, and she laughed so very much. So those bangles, and those bright, bright sari's, the ones that brought summer blooms and petals to my imagination, that was her.
My aunt would say, "Come! Let us take the iron horses and leave the real ones to play in the pastures and forests." So we went biking often, through the country that was a canvass for the seasons, a theatre for the birds who played upon wing.