I can’t explain how it came to be planted at the corner of our house, on the edge of the bed beside the driveway. We built the house, after all, and we oversaw the landscaping plan. You’d think I’d have paid great attention to that particular spot, as it is the one I see as I enter and exit the house a thousand times a day.

Nevertheless it is there, this thing I call a “tulip tree.”

What is her issue? you may be wondering.

It’s pink, for starters.

And it blooms too soon.

This thing buds out, you see, in February. February! When the temperature is likely to be unreasonably cold and the threat of a deep freeze looms with every sunset. I worry about that tree from the moment those buds emerge. And if they make it to March (an unlikely bet, is what I’m saying), they bloom leafless (!), a wild burst of fuchsia that’s made a grand ballroom entrance—only to discover the party has yet to begin.

Until this year, that is.

This year, I spotted those buds and (I cannot tell a lie) my heart leapt at their promise.

The blooms unfolded, one after the other after the other, and I rejoiced.

Spring is coming.

How happy I am my tulip tree has the courage to be the first one to the party.

30 Days of Grace III