A Snake, A Wedding, and Faith: Everyday Magic, Day 972

Somewhere in Brazil a bunch of people stopped their car on a highway, got out, and signaled other drivers to hold off so that a very large snake could cross the road. When I saw the video, I was amazed at how calm and calming the humans and, to some extent, the snake were in doing what it took for the snake to arrive at the other side. It also made me happy to see members of my own species, known for how often we get it wrong when it comes to the more-than-human world, get it right.  Such moments help me re-ignite my faith in this world.

Which leads me to a wedding — not of anyone I know personally but of a writer I admire, Anne Lamott, who, three weeks after she got her Medicare card, married writer Neal Allen.  As she told the New York Times, the one thing she still wanted in life was a good marriage. At age 65, she got it.  Shortly afterwards, she tweeted, “So never, ever give up, because God is such a show off.”

There are things happening all the time that can tip us toward greater faith in what’s possible and what’s actually even happening, and most of which don’t involve big snakes or fabled weddings. Despite the horrors and heartbreaks, bad decisions, evil renderings, and apathy resulting in terrible suffering, there’s also this: small acts of goodness or big leaps into love. There’s the incessant smell of lilac all around me right now as I type on the porch, my own marriage giving me so much inspiration and strength for a long time, and a so breeze lifting and releasing the cedars and walnut trees. There’s new green and old green unfurling and a whole lot of bird song.

There’s also the baby snake I carefully tricked the cat into releasing from his mouth so that the snake could live (and live outside our house). Grace abounds, and believing in a better world helps us glimpse it, shepherd it across the road, or meet it at the altar.

The Power of Blossoms: Everyday Magic, Day 971

Emily Dickinson writes, “I started early — Took my dog.” In my case, I started late and took my croissant, and unlike Dickinson, I wasn’t looking for mermaids in the basement of the ocean or fleeing from the silver-tongued tide. Nope, I was savoring one flowering tree after another, that and buttery layers of flakey wonder.

Each spring, I hit the pause button on my life at some moment, and if I’m smart, many moments, and head out into the neighborhoods to worship at the fleeting faces of magnolia blossoms. Some weeks later, after the frost has zapped those magnolias brown-edged and fallen,  I mosey along the lilac. I’ve also done lily-of-the-valley walks because those tiny white bells hold whole worlds of exquisite joy. This year, with winter holding its ground far later than usual and a sluggish spring, everything exploded into blossom at once, so a few days ago, I parked the car near the Barker Street bakery, got my provisions, and headed out into the blossoming world.

Instead of a somewhat orderly procession of daffodils before tulips and magnolias before redbuds, this year, everything is showing off at once. Turn a corner and behold! Lilac is just starting beside a spread of tulips. Cherry trees are partying on high, one happy hand of pink piled against another. Grape hyacinth sings the song of its people below a bevy of flowering dogwood and against the backdrop of Rhododendron (what are you doing so far west, Appalachian flowers?). From the ground, covered with thousands of slips of Bradford pear paper petals, to the heavens, framed with interlocking purple, pink, and white, the world is blooming faster than we can comprehend.

It’s also changing wildly fast after winter’s long dormant stretch of snow, ice, gray skies, and sudden jolts down in temperature, all of which makes life seem more monolithic than it is.  What’s peaking today will be hollowing out in a week. What’s just opening its doors, flower by flower, will soon dissolve or fall away. That’s why I write and walk into this most springs: to acknowledge that yes, this is remarkable even if seasonal, and yes, we’re alive to bear witness to more than just the grief and insanity of the world.

Tomorrow, if I’m not an idiot, I’ll be the one walking slowly, phone in hand, to take pictures of what’s shining, to paraphrase poet Li-Young Lee, blossom to impossible blossom. I might even be crawling along the sidewalk to smell the lily-of-the-valley. Each bundle or spread or hidden conclave of flowers here, in all their power, demand no less.

I’m in Love With Irises (Peonies Too): Everyday Magic, Day 939

Why are they so mind-blowingly beautiful? Is it the delicate petal, something between paper and flesh? Or the enormous resilience of seemingly delicate twists of blossoming ethers that can hold up their angel  bodies in ferocious storms and come up smiling the next morning? Is it the colors — batik blues and black-purples glistening in the rain, gold dissolving to peach to pink or yellow cusps of sun folded around a quiet center of intoxication? Also, the yellow ones smell like lemons, the purple ones like grapes, and the brown ones like chocolate. Whatever it is, irises had me at Hello Gorgeous!

Let us not, however, ignore a blooming companion many years, the peony, a tight ball of pale pink that explodes into scent and major party animal blossom, but only after tiny ants irritate that bud first. It’s true: peonies burst out at high speed mostly all at once, but the pain-in-the-neck order viagra or cialis online ants are a major player. Piss off a tight round bud, and voila! A peony that seems to stand on its stem outside or in a vase, belting out one show tune after another of big flower power.

Now that the peonies and irises I planted over 18 months ago are having a banner week, I’m beside myself with joy and also the dilemma that I can’t just stare at them, lean down to smell them again, and behold them yet another for uninterrupted hours. Instead, I made frequent jaunts to where they’re standing and showing up like nobody’s business, marveling at the miracle of who they are, and telling them, “You are so beautiful! But you know that already…..obviously.”

The iris are ever-coy and lower their eye lashes while flirting with the wind. The peonies lean back their big heads and start singing “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!” Who could argue with either?