Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 19, 2021
Now I am enjoying the brilliant magnolia newly visible over our back fence. What beauty, a tree that brims with a thousand blossoms, like a field of tulips reaching for the sun. As I read more stories about the horrible conditions in Texas this week, the lack of all the simple, basic things we take for granted in our lucky lives - heat, water, electricity, safe shelter - the magnolia’s morning gift reminds me how little it takes to make me appreciate my own abundant fortune.
Day 330: Spring Will Come
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 16, 2021
I had prepared myself to sacrifice the rhododendron we have nurtured for a handful of years; I assumed it could not survive the felling of the tree above it. However, the careful lowering of every severed branch not only saved the plant last week, it spared the rhododendron’s just-emerging flowers. This is the first spring we’ve gotten a crop of blossoms from this juvenile bush grown big enough to claim its space, and I am so grateful to be able to enjoy this new and cheerful sign of spring.
To all of you suffering under bitter winter’s bite today, this week… this bud’s for you. Spring will come again, I promise.
Day 329: New Perspectives
Shelter in Place, San Francisco, February 15, 2021
Without the acacia tree smack dab in the middle, our garden takes on a new perspective and scale, the dominance shifts elsewhere, new vistas bring delight. In particular, I’m enjoying the full width of the neighbor’s magnolia, not even visible before, now anchor and backdrop to our view. In full bloom at the moment of its reveal, this early bird’s bright pink and purple flowers reach towards us across the fence, welcome harbingers of spring.
We are just a few weeks from our second COVID shots and a few weeks more from relative freedom, we hope. Of course, we can’t discount possible hiccups in the timing and gaps in our protection from mutations of the disease. But, in theory, at least, we will have more options in the people we see and the things we can do this spring.
I thought I’d miss the giant tree that filled our yard, but I don’t. Its removal promises new gardening opportunities and a very different point of view. I welcome the change and challenge. I expect that I will miss some things about the time we’ve sheltered here together, too. But I expect and hope that as John and I reenter the world, we’ll do so with an even greater appreciation for the preciousness of all we have and see.