26 May 2024
Yesterday afternoon spring flowers grinned in their silence. These neighborhood suburban streets remained abandoned, much like the beginnings of 2020 when more crucial questions let Nature breathe. Maybe people were boardwalking the beaches, cheering military air shows, or swaying from one unbeatable faithful store sale to the next that most holidays bring.
I reached across the quiet to imagine the garden plants’ thoughts. This year the sage sprouts full, pale lavender flowers on every stem, guaranteeing a bouquet of savory leaves for summer dishes of garlic sage butter for pasta to offer me memories lasting through winter risottos.
A childhood woodland past shadows my path as the small Mountain Laurel displays bright red buds, ready to spring into bright pink spring flowers. An occasional yellow leaf with blight reminds me this woodland plant needs special care in an unpredictable suburban neighborhood like this one. Apparently, we aren’t much different in that respect.
A newly purchased groundcover, Saponaria ocymoides (Rock Soapwort) reaches across barren, rocky dirt bringing pale pink flowers of prolific blooms that one can only pray will multiply and spread. Isn’t that the ultimate hope for all the goodness we try to accomplish?
And finally, after three years of questioning, the roses return with vibrancy and love, as if to guarantee that despite their absence, our directives as misfits that many learn to discover, we still grow among them, and are Loved.
