The Burma Padauk (ပိတောက်) and the gift of Hope
That year was particularly bleak. Weeks and weeks of grey days with barely any sunlight. The rivers rose and the land became waterlogged; people squelched their way down lanes, sheltered on the edges of pavements to avoid the backwash from cars and lorries, never seemed to take off their coats and boots. They stop looking up; stopped making eye contact in the street, faces tipped down against the relentless wind and rain. On the television and the radio the weather announcers sounded bored and depressed. They talked about further lows coming in from the Bay of Bengal, gave flood warning for low-lying areas, advised people not go out unless it was strictly necessary. Life became insular and subdued; nobody could imagine an end to this eternal weather.
Cleaning out a long-abandoned drawer in the kitchen, Amy found a packet of flower seeds, left over from a previous planting. They were old and grey, wrinkled and rock hard. The packet itself was dog-eared and crumpled, a drawer that hadn’t been cleaned out for years – these must have been here since Amy had moved in 3, maybe 4 years ago.
The phone rang. Amy shoved the packet in her pocket and went to answer it. It was a call centre. Annoyed, she hung up and filled the kettle. She would have a cup of tea before she faced the sodden trudge to the market. Distracted, she wrote herself a list of reminders and tucked it into her pocket, before looking for her purse. She grabbed an umbrella and hurried through the rain to buy her groceries. The mild flu that she had been incubating decided to hit at that moment. Sneezing hugely she yanked a handkerchief from the detritus in her voluminous pocket, not noticing the crumpled packet that got caught on the edge of it, tumbling into the hedge where it flapped for a moment before dropping, sodden, into the mud and leaves below it.
November December and January passed without an improvement in weather conditions. February appeared. The weather never let up. People stopped commenting about the rain and wind. They just got on with their lives.
And then, one day in the middle of February, the sun came out from behind the clouds. A light breeze stirred the air. Bored children, released from stuffy classrooms, shrieked and laughed in playgrounds. Shoppers acknowledged each other. Dog walkers smiled and stopped to chat. Office workers looked out of their windows and daydreamed about eating lunch in the park, or going for a run after work. Hearts lifted; souls soared. Under the hedge, the little seeds, softened by the rain, put out tentative white shoots, wriggling comfortably into the mulch. The sun warmed the ground and the roots dug through with ease. Questing leaves thrust their way along, looking for light.
By April, summer was in full growth. Amy, walking to work, noticed a flash of orange by her foot as she strode along; marvelled at the riot of padauk tumbling across the edge of the pavement. Wow, how lovely, of someone to plant these, she thought. New life, new hope. Certainly brightens my world. I wonder why they chose my street?