There's a dash of pink everywhere, punctuated by spots of yellow and red. The aptly named trumpet flowers announce a very short-lived spring, lining an otherwise lackluster, concrete world with some life and grace. Spring, only a year back and somewhere on the other end of the globe, used to mean something else. The pearly cherry blossoms and the regal tulips will always bloom in some nomadic, alpine corner of my heart. Every spring. Tropics have their own spring too, and so do I. One of pink hopes and green desires.