Sitting beside my recently planted Butterfly Bush, I pondered its plentiful blooms and perchy branches, so inviting to tiny, flight-weary visitors. It doesn’t do much for me, as bushes go, in that there’s no rhyme nor reason to its growth pattern. It resembles the drunken and disorderly conduct of bushes. Yet it has succulent purple blossoms, and the bumblebees frequently wave their thanks as they zoom in for a sip of something cool. Butterflies dance about and then land on its wayward branches.
My heart is always warmed by the courage of the crocus in Springtime, fearlessly nudging their way through the frozen earth. When kersplatted with snow and ice, they tuck their heads and shout, “No worries! I’ll stop back tomorrow!” No promise of Spring is more faithfully kept than by the classic simplicity of tulips. Strong and straight they keep their sentry in a clear vase on the shelf, nodding only to Time as it marches by.
I love the intense aroma of Lilacs, my longtime favorite Spring flower. The front yard of my childhood home was filled with enormous bushes and we’d weave our bikes through their archways, and use lilac leaves as our money as we imagined our marriages to the stars of the tv series, CHiPS. Winding our way through the apple orchard we’d rest with our dolls beneath the crabby branches, or crawl up to get a better view. It’s only now that I realize how intoxicating the lilac’s scent can be…no wonder marrying Erik Estrada seemed possible!