It was the week that happens every year when the city is bathed in clouds of pink and white, and — if you are in a position to do so — it seems best not to think about anything else (especially war).
As I try to do every spring, I went to the park to see the forsythias flowing over the cliffs. It was nice to contemplate something beautiful and dramatic for a few minutes instead of battles and negotiations.
Back home in the garden, the camellias were beginning to bloom. During the coldest days of the winter, I was worried that they might not make it, but they somehow managed. The cold-hardy jasmine we planted a few years ago along our back wall was not so lucky.
The camellia flowers are pink and ‘candy cane.’
Every year I forget that we even have bloodwort and every year I am happy to see these plants again. They will go to sleep in a few weeks and spend most of the year hibernating underground, which seems like a good coping mechanism.
This year, I noticed that the plants are getting taller because nothing is blocking the view of the statue.
Is that a good change? I wasn’t sure. It’s an effect of having a garden with high walls, where everything has a tendency to grow toward the light. Did we make a mistake building the walls so high? I don’t think so — it’s a pleasure not to have to look at the neighboring yards — but every decision, it seems, has costs and benefits.
I went running along the riverbank, which was also beautiful.
Having passed these trees so many times, I feel like I know them. I can share in the exuberance they seem to display upon waking up.
The state park was flying a pink flag in solidarity.
