Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California, December 1, 2020
I know I’ve had more than one calla lily in this pandemic picture series, but that’s how long we’ve been here. They’ve bloomed, gone dormant, and here they are again, their rich, dark leaves fill every available space and then some. Now, this season’s first bloom begins to open in the most inhospitable of places - in front of the house, on a crusted mound of dirt and against a broken post from an old, forgotten fence. A brave vagabond. If tradition holds, this first calla lily will soon be stolen by some midnight passerby. It happens every year. Sometimes a second one goes, and then, for whatever reason, our mystery thief moves on to other yards. The ensuing crop is generally left alone. Where once we resented it, our back garden now boasts so many patches of the lily that the sidewalk loss seems trivial, the blooms expendable.
Or are they? I have been thinking lately about the days that we have left to us and how they’re whiling away too quickly in this time of suspended animation. We are too old to get them back. Will we regret the time we’ve lost no matter what comes next? And I’ve been ruminating on the ones we love, the ones we do not ever want to lose, not a single one of them expendable. Life is precious. Beauty, too…. I think this year I’m going to be the one to cut this early blossom down and bring it to the table where we can watch it bloom.
