Japan has a cherry blossom festival, Ottawa the famous tulip festival.
I have my own backyard bloom bonanza.
Once upon a time, I peered out my window into a dreary plot of land. Sure, I dressed it up, season to season, with bright blooms in my urns and gorgeous linens for garden soirées of the future. The kids didn’t notice the absence of plants and ran about the weeds and uneven grass with water pistols and soccer balls, until they grew up. Almost.
Teenagers now, they of the leggy look and straightened hair, my girls are Pod People, needing an occasional shove into the Great Outdoors. Yet wander they surely will into my new excessively bloomed haven. Two new malus rinki with baby pink flowers that scream spring are my new view out the window.
My original crab apple is not forgotten even though I had lost the faith as it failed to bloom last year. It too is sprouting blooms that hover over my outdoor table, making it my new favourite perch to sip my coffee and procrastinate. Writers need revving up. This is a good place for just that.
Suddenly the birds have come or maybe the frame is simply new. There they are, perched like watercolour inventions among the branches. One day, if I’m lucky, I will capture a the little crimson cardinal, poised for only a moment, ready for his close-up. My camera is never quick enough.
Failing that, I’ll open the doors this weekend to the cool spring rain. Inhale the green, no longer dreary, but near and perfect.
“To be poor and be without trees, is to be the most starved human being in the world. To be poor and have trees, is to be completely rich in ways that money can never buy.”
Clarissa Pinkola Estés, The Faithful Gardener