as i stood on the haley's back porch this morning watching the five dogs, i noticed that the air felt almost spring like. i know it's only february 3rd and i didn't check, but i assume the groundhog yesterday gave some omen that winter is going to last forever (because i wish for the opposite) but - nevermind that - it still felt spring like. there was a chill in the air, but the sun was warm. i even heard some birds.
and as i stood there, looking around the yard, i noticed something unexpected. i think it's fair to say that the yard on selman street is still in pre-renovation status. most of the brush and construction debris have been removed, but the grass and landscaping are still at very early planning stages (and i do mean very early).
but today, i noticed a line through the middle of the yard. a line that went from the bottom of the stairs all the way to the back fence, disecting the yard in two, passing under a plastic table and between two chairs. it was a line about five inches wide and formed by the green stalks of daffodils pushing up through the soil.
spring indeed.
in a yard without grass it was perhaps even more startling, but even in my own garden i am always caught off guard by the first emerging stalks. i popped back into the kitchen and announced the incoming oracles of spring to haley and her sister. the daffodils seem to follow a former stone path through the yard and that makes my mind wander.
the past path faded into history. a bulb hidden underground. growing. multiplying. gaining strength. preparing through the bleak winter. (ok, not so bleak. but pretty damn cold to a southern girl.) and then, through the cool of a frosty night into the warmth of a spring-like day emerging fresh and strong. ready to share their beauty. ready to brighten an otherwise barren expanse. ready to show the fruit of so many cold winters.
i can relate to that.
daffodils naturalize too. that's one of the reasons i've always appreciated them so. over time, in the right place, with the right amounts of nourishment, the fruit of the bulb multiplies. (well, technically the bulb divides in two, then three, etcetera; but give me some poetic license here.)
it's been a year since haley and i were first emerging from our respective cold winters to find each other. a year ago we were tentatively pushing through the layers, reaching for the warmth of our spring.
and now.. like the daffodils...our fruit has grown. multiplied. and emerged.
yesterday, haley and i had lunch at our favorite chinese restaurant. we are regulars, order the same thing each time, sit together on one side of the booth, and always marvel at the diverse crowd that we observe there. the restaurant was fairly empty yesterday, but when we got up to leave we passed a solitary middle-aged white man in a booth a few away from ours. he was facing us, but honestly, i hadn't noticed him at all. he looked like anyone's dad, or a young grandparent.
as we left and passed his booth, he looked at us and said, 'you two look sweet together. you are a very sweet couple... i just wanted to tell you that.' we thanked him politely and left hand in hand.
that happened a lot when we were first falling in love. i'm happy to know our flowers are still strong and bright.
d: daffodils by the armful
b: a bloom of love, still fresh and new
g: naturalizing naturally
No comments:
Post a Comment