Cassia

Cassia wears gold that grows. The golden shower tree drapes itself in chains of yellow blossom — long pendulous racemes, each a rope of small golden flowers — until the whole tree is a chandelier. In Kerala they hang her chains for Vishu, the new year; she considers it the proper use of wealth. "Gold," she says, "is only metal until it blooms." The Flowering Court, forever trading in brief glory, finds her the most spendthrift of them all — she drops her chains by the thousand and makes more by morning. Her pods hang afterward like dark lanterns, rattling with seeds. Young bloomers ask how she affords such extravagance. She shows them her roots, deep in good soil, and smiles. "Spend," she says, "what the ground gives you. The ground is generous to those who flower without fear."