Last night in L.A., rather than keeping me huddled inside, the wild weather itself drew me out. AIR, the most elusive of elements, seems to speak through the wind. Like a visit from a lover who has gone missing for a while, it comes at you with a vengeance: biting your neck, singing in your ear, pulling your hair…overpowering your entire being…
I can work with that.
Amidst a year of more transformations than I care to tally, simply being out with the elements is a welcome reprieve, and source of renewal. I snuck out last night under a smiling crescent moon for a visit with Mr. Wind. He did not disappoint.
Howling, enticing, shaking the proverbial bed posts through the frenetic vibration of all the trees, he caused me to look up…and then I saw my old friend…the Flowering Pear Tree.
Each year, come November, I start looking for her. Waiting for her leaves to drop so that her tender white petals can emerge right around the turn of the year – a sign of all the beauty that’s to come.
But, in this Official Year of Shit Storms, ahem, ‘growth,’ I’d forgotten all about Ms. Pear altogether. This year, it turns out, she was waiting for me.
She stood tall in all her glory, tiny white blossoms lit up by the moon, which was extra bright because nary a cloud graced the black sky. Her silken blossoms danced with the wind against an ebony backdrop and I stood there, like a giddy teenager who happened upon something naughty: in this case, the wind making love to the tree.
It was a gorgeous sight, and they seemed to be having a really good time of it. I stood there for a moment, admiring their force and grace – a beautiful pairing indeed.
Alas, it was time to move on and leave them to their privacy. More adventures, I’m quite sure, on the horizon….