I spoke with my mother the other day. She said it was exciting to see the leaves coming out. It is, and it is also wonderful to have a mother that is excited by these things.
I sat on a bench by Riverside Park this evening as the sun went down and stared at the sky and the tree branches and their tiny budding green. I walked by the vibrant tulips with their uncategorizable color, something surrounding and within pink and orange and yellow. I saw the purple flowers embedded among them and wondered why I don't know their name. Are they unimportant to me? Somehow I have looked past them, have nothing to call them, no way to reference or remember them. Fleeting and gone. And all the people, other sides of me, in different states of mind, talking on phones, running, texting, biking, walking with urgency. There's no time for daily, weekly, yearly miracles.
My mother has lived through over 60 opening-of-the-leaves and it is still beautiful to her. She's given me this, when I remember to recall it.
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