Gravelled Paradise

As I walked into work this morning, I passed the little plaza in front of our doors. It’s got these trees that grow out of little squares in the concrete. Most of the year the trees are surrounded by plantings of lily grass (I know this because they left one of those little sticks with the name on it in the bed, not because of any plant knowledge on my part). But in the spring, there are these amazing hyacinth’s that spring up overnight, and for about a week, there is this incredible, incredible, a million times incredible smell of sweetness as I leave the office in the evening. In an area that is usually significant in smell only for the smokers that are congregated there, for this little window of time, there is this, I’ll say it, magic. Tiny flowers with super powers to change the ordinary into something that is purely delight.

And I passed those beds this morning, thinking that it has been warm for a few days, and that usually means that you’ll see a few shoots peaking out, and soon, soon, the promise of soon.

And then I put it together that the gravel that they had filled those beds around the trees, which looks perfectly “nice” and serviceable and, I’m sure, quite economical, means no more hyacinths.

And today that makes me quite sad.