Every year asparagus season rolls around. And every year finding the first stalk peering cautiously above ground is like getting an early Christmas present. That moment came and went, as golden and fleeting as a first kiss. But, to my dismay, our patch has been pretty low-yielding so far this season. Share it!
My walkway has strawberry plants creeping all along the edges. Little white strawberry flowers have just opened, pressing their way sky-ward. In the early Summer, I get to pluck the tiny strawberries from these winding plants. Too precious for pie. Best eaten raw and warm from sunlight.
I notice how, year after year, the sense of seasonal preciousness fades. Violets stick out their purple-white tongues. Dandelions shake out their yellow manes. I watch a wasp with one wing spin desperately on the sidewalk. Electric pink tulip petals curl, fall and crumple like forgotten skirts in the grass. The cherry tree is wind-swept — the last of the white cherry blossoms huddling together in solidarity.
I can’t help but see metaphor in flora and fauna. My human mind is designed for story in this way. The broken wasp is not just a wasp, it’s us — struggling against the injustice of this world. The cherry blossom is beauty incarnate, breathtaking, illuminating… then gone.
In this way I spend my time hanging out on my front stoop, watching the gorgeous chaos of nature weave itself into a tapestry of story. On some days it’s just my yard, with that bush over there and that wonky patch of grass. But other days, it’s full of wonder. Bumblebees mistake me for sugar-laden buds, lingering curiously around my feet and ankles. A bowl of this strawberry salad in my hands. Mockingbirds catch insects in their mouths. An orange-striped cat slinks through the yard. And the painfully romantic sound of the violin being practiced by our neighbor slinks its way into my eardrum.