In the gardens of Faisalabad, spring arrives not with a whisper, but with a flourish. The air, once heavy with winter’s stillness, now carries the sweet perfume of blossoms unfurling toward the sun. Among the myriad flowers that paint the landscape, one hue stands resplendent—the orange flower, radiant as a flame against the verdant canvas of the season.
For me, this colour has always held a peculiar magnetism. Orange is not merely a pigment upon the spectrum; it is warmth made visible, joy distilled into light. As I wander through the awakening gardens, the sight of these orange blooms stirs within me a cascade of memories and anticipations.
I am reminded that soon the markets will welcome mangoes, their golden-orange flesh offering the sweetest nectar nature provides. I think of papayas, their sunrise interiors promising nourishment. I recall kites dancing in the vernal breeze, their orange tails tracing arcs of celebration across the sky. And in the distance, the sound of wedding festivities—the mayoon ceremonies where orange drapes and floral arrangements herald the union of hearts.
Yet this colour speaks of deeper truths. It is the colour of ripeness, of harvest, of life reaching its fullest expression. The orange flower is not an end, but a beginning—a promise that seeds will form, that roots will descend, that new green shoots will breach the soil when the wheel turns again. In this eternal cycle, we glimpse the profound harmony of existence: birth, growth, fruition, and renewal.
Standing amidst this symphony of scent and colour, one cannot help but feel gratitude. The warmth upon the skin, the fragrance of earth and blossom, the very breath of spring—all are gifts. And so, in this moment of quiet wonder, I remind myself: Alhamdulillah. Praise be to the Creator, who in His infinite mercy, grants us these seasons of beauty, these reminders that life, in all its vibrant hues, is a blessing to behold.