An enlarged framed photograph (of me) hung on the back wall of our king size bed in our old bedroom, when my husband was alive. I look out of it holding in my hands white flowers of Motia. It was taken by our son, who was camera phobic in those days.
It was Eid day. I was expecting more guests in the evening. I had come out to gather the white flowers to make the rooms smell nice, when my son snapped a photo. It was a lovely shot — catching the brilliant green of the grass, and trees, the violet pink shade of my dress, the orange, and yellow streaks of the setting sun in the blue sky; the riot of colors of the sweet peas behind my back, and the red geraniums which bloomed in the flower pots.
The photo lies in the attic now, as are the other photos; except for a framed photo of my husband in uniform which is in the hallway. The colors have gone away.