elizabethlevett

I always take a long walk in the morning and hadn’t been down Grove Street in a few weeks. Turns out that it was just enough time for the rows of plum trees lining left and right to fully blossom. I walked along that early morning with a friend smiling, oohing, wowing, open-mouthed, and taking pictures while the early breeze sent delicate pink petals floating down around us.

Sakura, in Japan, the open mouth, the beautiful cherry blossoms like our pink San Francisco plums signify the fleeting nature of life, the impermanence of all things. All things lovely eventually fall to the ground. It always seemed like a sad way to look at such a beautiful time of year. After the months of cold, the long dark nights, the loneliness and stillness of winter these lovely flowers are supposed to bring an admonition. I’m not supposed to attach myself to the delicate beauty of these blossoms, lest the weight of my need pulls the petals to the ground. It’s all impermanent. It’s all fleeting. Exhale their fragrance and inhale the stale mildew of their decay. That ship will sail. That fine thoroughbred won’t always run as fast. Someday she’ll be put to pasture with the rest of the old grey mares. Okay. Okay.

I remember the first day of spring last year. It had been one week exactly since we’d all been sent home from work. We were told there was something deadly and invisible all around us. We were told to stay indoors as much as possible, stay away from people. Finally on the equinox I went for a long walk in the park and admired the flowering trees with their soft, sweet beauty. I remember the overwhelming feeling of fear and confusion on that day. we had no idea what was ahead – no idea how long it would be. How very, very long. But to be with the trees lightened our hearts and gave us comfort.

So here we are. It’s been a year. And it’s not over. Just when we started to relax a little the winter brought more bad news. More darkness, more sickness, more sadness.

Now spring has come after winter as it always does. This morning I saw four crows passing over in a line against a pale sky. One for each season. If the petals are impermanent then so is the darkness of winter. The glorious mysteries always follow right behind the sorrowful. If you sit very still when the nurse gives you the shot then mom will take you to that sparkling shop downtown for a butterscotch sundae. Winter passes. It always does. So does sadness, so does fear. If I have to remember the inevitable return of the cold and dark of winter then I’ll plan for spring every January and buy up all the flower seeds I can find. If the raccoons insist on digging up my seedlings I’ll get some more. Like Camus’ “invincible summer” in the midst of his winter. If I have to carry the blasted mindfulness of grief that may lie ahead in moments of exhilaration then let it be true that I’ll always have in me something of these audacious blooming trees that line Grove Street along the left and right sides as I walk along season by season.

(This piece appears in the Spring 2021 edition of Digital Paper, the online magazine of the Bay Area Writing Project. Photo of Grove Street, San Francisco, by the author.)