Pretty Flowers

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In my neighborhood, most of the streets have a lane that goes north, and a lane that goes south, and traffic is kept apart by an imaginary line that runs up the center. In others, such as up Holly Hills and Bellerive, these lanes are separated by a wide swath of grass and trees. On any given day children will play there, young men and women will jog, or moms will push their strollers among enormous cottonwoods, pinoaks and the occasional ornamental pear tree or redbud.

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One section of these park-like boulevards near my home has had claim laid to it by a couple who possess enviable skill and enthusiasm for gardening. Driving by in the spring and summer, this public area is lovingly cultivated, watered and weeded. The result is an absolutely stunning display of flowers, and in particular, magnificent daylilies.

Daylilies begin opening at dawn, and spend the entire day yawning open to the world only to close at dusk. Each blossom blooms one time, so there is only a brief window in which to revel in any particular burst of delicate color.

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I took my digital camera there over the course of a few days, and took lots of pictures, my favorites are below. While taking them, I met the homeowner whose handiwork I admired so much. Many of the lilies he and his wife had cross-bred themselves. The lily varieties bore affectionate names that suited them. The homeowner invited me to see his backyard. It was no larger than an average South St. Louis home, but almost every square inch was covered in delightful foliage dotted with gemlike flowers still glistening from a late afternoon watering.

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I now find myself feeling a strong sense of anticipation. Today it is almost cold, and the last few days have been wet and dark. Still yet, the daffodils have popped up, the opening act of a spring variety show (I learned this week that a daffodil, narcissus and jonquil are the same thing. Having called them jonquil all my life, I think I'll call them daffodil, since it sounds more cheerful). The ornamental trees have already bloomed, and vast umbrellas of white and pink petals gently sway in the breeze like a chaste fandance by nature's showgirls. They and their bulbed cousins herald the arrival of rebirth, and the gloomy weather simply can't rob the bright smiling flora of their cheer.

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A friend of mine is a pagan. While I am a monotheist, and see insurmountable problems to the pantheism of pagan belief, I understand why one might worship nature absent a faith in a deity that fully transcends nature. It is perfectly reasonable to presume such beauty has a source more sublime than mere chance. With a palette consisting of great gobs of green and smidgens of yellow, pink and white nature has already painted hope and anticipation among the brick and rough asphalt of my city. I can't wait to see what follows.

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Tim McNabb