The popping pink
I was seated on my couch of the sofa comfortably watching a
sports show on my television. There was a fond and vivid memory of the three
chocolates that I had munched and then gobbled one after the other in quick
succession. There were precisely three chocolate wrappers that were making
funny sounds in the left pocket of my pyajama.
Suddenly, the shun shown stupendously and so much was its
vigor that it took my eyes of their comfort zone and all the way up to the
center of the garden of our house. So much perfect and precise the rays were
that I was forced to fixate my eyes on to a very large pink flower. I was so
surprised to look at the radius of that flower that it evoked both a moment of
happiness and emotion of tears on my face.
I instantly took my phone and switched on its camera to take
a snap of the popping pink flower. When I had met my desire to take that snap,
I then decided to go to the front of the house and take the snap from there. It
was as if the entire flower was pellucid, a feature which was forcing me to
take an all-round view of it by forcing me to take a peripatetic path.
When I told my wife about that flower, then she asked me the
question “How old is it?”, then swiftly came the reply from me “How is it old?”
The queer syndrome did not stop there. Later I noticed the
pocked of my pyjamas and found to my surprise that the chocolate wrappers were
brick red and white in color, the colors which when mixed yield a bright pink
hue just like the one that was painted on that popping pink flower.
