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Soft, delicate purple bliss blooming in October. Covering the brown earth like a lustrous glorious carpet. Gigantic and majestic, branches spread out, rising up to the blue sky. The mighty Jacaranda.
When I close my eyes and think the furthest back I can of my childhood, my memories are filled with Jacaranda trees in full bloom and their delicate purple flowers some fallen on the ground.
I would pick them up and tuck them in my little fingers as though long purple nail polish and play with them moving them on the tip of my fingers like I would puppets. Flossing them like a diva queen.
See, I spent the first eight years of my life in a children’s home. Behind the buildings at one of the furthest corners were two, maybe three large Jacaranda trees.
If you grew up in an institution, few eventful things happened in the home. It was all schedule after schedule a few exciting things here in there particularly in the early years. But October would bloom Jacaranda trees and my heart would get filled with blissful joy.
You would go there, lay down on the soft carpet of purple flowers, close your eyes and you would be transported someplace else. Into a magical world where everything was rainbows and butterfly wings.
