Flowering and Fading

Hey, neighbor! Hope you don't mind me sticking my
nose in your tree.

Since moving into my neighborhood six years ago, I have been quite enchanted by a neighbor's magnolia tree, the only one in our subdivision. Its sudden and stunning beauty somehow manages to take me by surprise every spring. My neighbor's tree is quite wide and nearly as tall as most of the other trees in the neighborhood, leading me to believe it may have been planted around the same time the house was built. The blossoms remind me of delicate teacups on the branches. The petals are soft and fragrant and large enough that you can stick your whole nose in them and be transported to some beautiful place in your mind. I rarely see the man who lives in this house, but I hope it gives him some measure of joy to see me photographing and sniffing his magnolia blooms. The cops have not come for me yet.

What can brown do for you?

Today, though, I felt a tinge of sadness as I walked by the tree at lunchtime. Its pink blossoms were turning brown, like when you leave an avocado out on the table for too long. A closer look, however, revealed a mix of petals past their prime and still some just coming into their own—a transition point.

Last week, I felt like I was finally (maybe) getting into the groove of stay-at-home, work-from-home, do-everything-from-home. This week has been a different story. For a couple days this week, I was like those sad, brown, wilting petals. On Monday night, I dreamed that I was saying goodbye to a friend. I hugged her and hugged her and hugged her. I asked her in the dream, "Are you afraid of me?" because I imagine when we can all see each other again, we will probably be suspicious of being close to people unless we have reliable antibody tests. "No," she replied. And then I woke up. After a month without any physical contact, the hugs in my dream felt so real. I wanted them to last forever, just like I want these magnolia petals to last forever.

Dealing with the brown stuff of life remains an open challenge. This week's brown matter included some really frightening thoughts about the possibility of loved ones dying during COVID-19 and addressing some tough topics in therapy. The brown too shall pass in my memory and soon there will be green leaves that will stay with us until the fall. I look forward to more green, more consistency in the coming weeks, though I suspect as we emerge from this current stay-at-home order next week, everything will once again be in flux—a transition point.