Shelter in Place, San Francisco, September 18, 2020
This is another story of a flower out of season. Yesterday, as I admired the dainty blossoms on the Velvet Elvis (Day 180), I spotted from the corner of my eye what appeared to be a bud on the azalea down below. The plant itself has been nearly buried this year by the showier hydrangea above it, and by the wild geranium ever creeping towards its roots. In spite of this encroachment, the azalea managed its normal March/April spray of candy-colored blooms well before the hydrangea had filled out. But nearly buried in the shadows now, had it managed to bloom again so out of season? I couldn’t believe my eyes.
With camera in hand, I checked again and sure enough, a single, sweet azalea flower has, this morning, opened up. What’s going on? Has the world gone so topsy turvy that even the garden has lost track of time? Have the strange, dark fire days confused its natural cycles? Is this bright pink flower before me a good omen or a bad, blooming out of season as it has? Is it a sign of hope and optimism or borne of fear the plant may not ever have another chance to bloom? I can relate. I no longer know what day it is, which way is up or down, or what path will take me forward. But just for now - however much we both may be confused - I’ll enjoy the azalea’s cheerful petals reaching for the sun.