“Wait,” I said to Doug, “they don’t bloom in August.” I thought I was seeing things on our walk.
Hurrying toward the old towering magnolia, I was focused on a pristine bud amongst dark green foliage. That just shouldn’t be there, I told myself, thinking the gorgeous flowers are usually gone by the end of June in Maryland. (earlier in Dallas)
Shows what I know.
As I searched for that bud I’d spied half a block back, Doug found a more breathtaking treasure that should not have bloomed in August: an opened flower . . . just above eye level.
Oh what a treasure . . . fragile pedals, an ethereal color, a distinct scent . . .
Nestled in an ungainly tree, sprawling around the corner of yard, it needed a good trim. But it has one tending it; the owner died months ago, and the property managers have more pressing responsibilities than trimming an old magnolia.
Yes, I flirted with the idea of sneaking back and clipping it, and the bud.
But, that would be stealing . . . even if no one is around to know they are being robbed.
I took pictures though – I wish you could catch a whiff of the delicate summery smell.
Seeing such elegant, simple, natural beauty – after a day when Isasia, another feature of nature, wrecked havoc, I wonder at the Hand that keeps this planet spinning.
Magnolias don’t bloom in August, I thought; but there they were: pristine and perfect. Beauty after an ugly storm. Just because I think I know what doesn’t bloom in August, doesn’t mean it can’t.