Since childhood, I have seen a tree bloom and dense, planted in the centre of my courtyard at home. I usually played, beneath the cool breeze, under this tree. Undoubtedly, it was my friend, companion, and playmate. I always found this tree shady at the time of sunny noon, it protected me from the scorching beams of the sun in May and June.
It protected me from the winds of December and January and ever enveloped me with its hanging branches. It stood to guard me from any sort of climatic changes. The sound of the wind blowing through this tree was similar to that of a mother singing when she tries to put her infant to sleep. How wonderful were those days of happiness and joy.
How beautifully it helped me in sorrow and grief. I can still smell the aroma of its yellowish and orange flowers, which were spread all over the courtyard of my house the entire day. The fragrance of the flowers was quite comparable to that of my mother's delicate scent.
Today, I am 43 and have young kids. My mother died at the age of 82 on the 23rd of February 2008. The fog of sorrow and grief is not yet clear and will not be clear till my own death. Without her I feel insecure and vulnerable. The only thing in this world, after Allah, which gives me courage is that tree, which still stands in my home's courtyard.
Even though, it is also an old tree, but it looks like my mother and has much similarity to my mother. The beauty of the earth revolves around a mother and a tree. To me it appears as a mirror of the past, of my beloved mother's. I would never like to part with my nature mother that is the treasure of my remaining life.
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