I cannot come to a peaceful conclusion–that is the truth–when it comes to trimming the wildly growing trees and bushes in our yard.
A hardy cutback can be a very good thing, this I know. It’s a part of life in all its most responsible forms. And still I love the wild beauty of a thing left to its own devices, blooms and branches reaching hither and yon with no regard for conformity. No regard at all.
Tim was in the yard with gigantic trimmers this summer. He was going about his work with typical Tim-like methodisicm. (That is, in fact, a word–at least as it pertains to my hyper-organized husband.) It’s something I love most about him, this commitment he has to keeping our lives in order. Still I ran to him with fear in my eyes. “Don’t trim the Sasanqua,” I said. “I love that it’s tall enough now to reach above the big kitchen window sill and peek in. It makes me happy.”
So early this week I looked out and saw this.
The reward of one premiere blossom. One bold blooming flower, there in the primary window position saying, Well hello there, Cath. Here I am! That brilliant flower was surrounded by a multitude of buds all waiting their turn, waiting until the lead bloom and I had had our moment.
Three days and then the bush burst forth in glory.
Winter is fast approaching. But the Sasanqua serves to remind me in every season, every age, every time—there is remarkable beauty.