Nature has a way of reminding us.
A languid Sunday morning beckoned me outside. The wind which I heard gusting the night before as I lay in bed had whimsically blown a layer of leaves into the pool. Glad for the excuse, I sauntered out in new robe and old sandals to separate earth from water. Standing on tip toes as I strained to free the net from its place on the patio's fascia board, a faint familiar scent played at my nose. I stopped in mid reach and closed my eyes, letting the fragrance wash over me like so many fond memories. Turning half a step to my left to inhale the recollection even deeper, I tasted the tiny bananas. I heard the unsure pulse of the lagoon as its contents gently lapped the rocky shore. I felt the sun kiss my receptive skin as I swam and paddled and dozed under a far away sky. I saw that golden orb ease into a salty bath as the soft warble of ukuleles danced in sweet exultation.
Opening my eyes to the sight of one single bloom, the siren song of the past receded to a soft murmur. I love this tree. It's a natural echo.
Far from a mere source of nostalgia, however, my magnolia tree is a harbinger. That first bloom tells me that a new season is nearly upon us. Assessing the rest of the bulbs, it is apparent that spring has just about run its course. The flowers bloom in earnest in the days just prior to the temperature supernova that defines a Scottsdale summer.
It was time for one last trip to the cabin before an evening fire wouldn't be necessary to chase the cold from our bones. To drink the last cups of coffee and hot chocolate on the deck as we sit rapt and wrapped under blankets and a blanket of stars. Stars so close that we yearn to rest our heads upon their galactic pillow. Stars so close that we should be able to feel the reflective warmth of the sun upon our cheeks and the tips of our noses. Alas, we shiver against temperatures in the mid 30s and long for a way to bring the chill home with us in a few days, a countermeasure for the impending heat.
Much further away than the hour and a half drive from our bills and our lives, we consumed more than the cold. A funny kind of osmosis happens up there. Tranquility leaks in, carrying with it the crackling fury of renewed energy. Baggage is dropped off. Scuttled amidst the tall pines and crisp, dry air. Though our climb in elevation eventually ceases, the concerns of the Valley keep rising, rising, rising. A lead weight around the neck now a helium balloon floating inexorably nearer the heavens with each northbound mile. By the time we are settled around that evening fire, someone else has taken possession of those worries for awhile. When it's time to head back down the hill, they drift back to us. Only the weight is never as heavy. The problems less insurmountable.
And so here I sit this morning, drinking my second cup of coffee and looking out the window at a tree in full bloom. Grateful for an old friend that always tells me what I need to hear.
;)
;)
