walking home after a long day of work down our dirty, pot-holed, dead-end street; not realizing my head had been cast down til I held it up and saw, all in one glance, our landlady's garden oasis, the stoop, dripping with the greens and purples and reds and yellows of impatients, nasturnium, pansies, asyllium, palms, and one big red crab-shaped sandbox . . . .
that first glance of the cherry tree esplanade in full bloom at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens as Jesse led me up the winding path . . . .
yawning tulips, striped, curled, raw-edged, smooth, always open, never uniform . . .
the old jewish man, hat in his hand, pausing under a smallish tree; the white of his hair and the black of his coat perfectly matching the tree's white blossoms and darkly contrasting limbs and trunk; i hid on the other side of the tree, pretending to smell a fluffy branch in order to watch him blending into the tree; when he was gone, i walked back and stooped to read the carefully placed tag: Mary Potter Flowering CrabApple . . .
the young woman, girlish with her camera, back up against an exploding cherry tree in her pink skirt, black top - she looked like a cherry tree herself, and i offered to take her picture for her . . .
the sight of jesse conducting an as yet uncomposed symphany of scents inside the lilac grove; his nose and cheeks buried in the white, purple, pinkly curled trees . . .
the raw, raw green of the newest trees . . .
2 comments:
Awesome photos! I love the descriptions of tree-people and people-trees. It is amazing how much significance a green efflorescence of life and the beauty of a complete stranger can have in a nyc moment...
So pretty, you write as effortlessly about cracked pavement as you do newly budding flowers. I feel privileged to see these glimpses through your eyes!
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