This is not a groundbreaking Wilder Words. Anyone who was a teenager around 1999 remembers when Ricky Fitts videotapes the dancing paper bag and then says the words above. But as cliched as they might be, and as over-quoted as they are, I still kind of love them. Yesterday I went outside to take pictures of the beautiful magnolia and forsythia flowers blooming in the garden, and this quotation popped into my head. I still feel like my heart might cave in when I look at the petals in the photos--they're so fragile, so heavy with the cold after an unseasonably warm spell, that they're dying. And that makes them even more beautiful, precarious, and sad. It breaks my heart to see their blooms cut short (more after the jump).
The magnolia tree was a present one of our family friends gave me for my bat mitzvah. Every year when it blooms it's as though it blooms for me--an ongoing gift. I've loved forsythia since I was little and my friends and I would hide behind the big forsythia bushes next to the brick walls of our elementary school. We were small enough so we could fit underneath the flowering branches and remain hidden from our teachers. We'd sometimes (this is weird) rub them on our hands and pretend we had jaundice. We were also the little kids who'd come in from recess with leaves in our hair from rolling down hills in the fall, and the ones who'd build fairy houses in the roots of the old oak by the soccer field. Talk about flower children. It was divine.
Here, some more flowering photos: