Our weather has stalled out. Here’s the NOAA report for this week. In the forecast discussion, they say that next week we’ll likely have even more rain, and there is no global indication that things will change before the end of May. It’s like the coronavirus–we are in a holding pattern, stuck in limbo, waiting for a positive change, fearful there won’t be one.
The weather icons actually don’t tell the whole story. It looked much like this last week, and many mornings it rained or had dense fog, but by late afternoon, it turned into a warm and sunny day with the bluest of skies, white clouds, greenest new leaves, and it was 7:00 before I could drag myself inside to make dinner. At bedtime last night, after a beautiful afternoon, there was lightning and thunder, which is always incredibly exciting at the lake. So good things are still happening, and June is on its way.
It’s the time of lilacs and I’m beginning to spot hints of pale lavender on bushes, which I will stealthily cut in the weeks ahead in vacant fields and deserted alleyways. Born in the month of May, they have always been my flower. There was that famous tall birthday cake my mother made me, frosted with purple lilac flowers, when I was a lonely teenager. And, in the years I lived in New England, the days were perfumed for the entire month. Everywhere you looked, there were weather-beaten lilacs that looked to be a hundred years old, bent over by heavy arms full of blossoms. It’s Fletcher’s birthday today and I always think of the lilacs which were in bloom in Colorado, where he was born. I stayed at my sister’s house in Eaton, and each morning I drove on a narrow farm road, west to Ft. Collins so I could help out the new Mom. The setting sun would be at my back when I returned, and I often stopped to break off a branch from an abandoned lilac bush, and set it on the dashboard. Its sweet scent filled my tender heart, broken open by the astonishing love I felt for my first grand baby. Rain or shine, in this crawling, anxious, slowed down time, here come the lilacs, which can fill an entire day with the smell of all summers/the loves of wives and children.
Lilacs, by Amy Lowell