Smelling the Flowers

Jasmine in a Neighbor's Garden

I am making progress coming to terms with the fact that my walks will be through Suburbia with an occasional less than quarter block step into open space. Then blocked and turned back by a temporary barrier.

All parks closed until the first of May.

I am stuck walking the sidewalk in the neighborhood during Shelter In.

This afternoon,  it took some effort to propel myself out of the house to walk through my neighborhood.  I had to push the curtains of my mind screaming "BORING!" And get on with it. I need to walk for physical and mental health especially now. A few days ago I read about one of our well known locals bursting into uncontrollable sobs when she found out the coast and all parks were closed due to COVID 19.

I totally get it. I've been crying inside for days.  

We are spoiled here with breathtaking beauty.  California coast, Redwood groves, coastal prairies, rivers, lakes, cattle ranches, sheep ranches, mayacamas mountains,  vineyards changing color with the seasons, a Mediterranean climate, outdoor cafes,  free outdoor concerts,  the list goes on. Living here, no matter how hard I work to afford it, feels like opening a present everyday. 

Today. I looked out through my window at a gloomy grey sky and picked myself up, tied on my tennis shoes and threw myself out the front door. 

I started walking the pavement trying not to feel sorry for myself. Head down, I walked right into the wisteria, inhaling, I kept going.

And then , my eyes woke up and I found the gardens. Almost every front postage stamp sized yard filled with flowers.  Blooms in every color of the rainbow.  

I stopped at a Jasmine plant crawling her way over a side fence. She smelled like sex. A fragrant sex all her own. 

I watched a neighbor lovingly guide a grape vine across a trellis. As, I turned the backside of another neighbor, her apron gathered around her,  digging a hole, a citrus tree waited by her side, ready to place his roots in the rich volcanic dirt.

Inside my heart, I praised each garden. One with a toddler sized golden buddha,  next door a patio lined with dozens of wind chimes silent ready to sing, a palm so large it looked like a dinosaur pineapple. 

I thanked the neighbors for their gift of gardening. 

For giving me hope and beauty in each step through Suburbia. 

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