A few weeks ago, I had breakfast with a friend whose
balcony overlooks Mobile Bay. The sun was shining, the day warmer than usual,
the cloudless sky a clear blue, and the bay water an intense blue glinting with
diamonds of sunlight. Although it was hard to leave the pleasant scene, there
were things to do, so I pulled myself away from the beauty of the morning and
made my way toward town. As I passed the park along the bay, I caught my breath
at the sight of a large flower bed near the road. Hundreds of red tulips were
in full bloom in a stunningly glorious display. Although our weather had been
unusually warm for several days, it was quite a surprise to see the riot of
color. But errands called, so I made my way toward the bank. As I waited in the
drive-through line, the loveliest music played on NPR: Beethoven’s Symphony No.
2 for Violin. The sight of the tulips and remembering the music carried me
through the rest of the day and into the rest of the week.
When I rode by the park a week later, I was dismayed
to find no blossoms in the large patch of tulips. A few days earlier, we
experienced heavy rain and high winds. I suppose the downpour or the wind had
stripped every petal and blown them away. The stems were a sad reminder of what
had been so lovely only a few days earlier.
One day last week, I passed the same park again. Much
to my delight, a single red blossom stood among the bare stems. One lone
late bloomer. It didn’t have the mass of surrounding blooms from before, but
something about the single tulip, one flower shining on its own, seemed almost
more impressive than the luxuriant mass of earlier blooms. So here’s to
late bloomers, flowers, or people. What a joy you are!
