Climbing

The pea plants are now about four inches tall.  They’ve begun to grow their long, thin little reaching-thingies that wrap around whatever they find so that the plant can climb.  I’m sure there’s a name for those things.  I guess “arms” is the word that pops into my mind when I think of them.  It’s like the plants are groping around, feeling their way toward anything they can hang on to.  They aren’t particular either.  If you stood still long enough, they would wrap around your leg and grow there.

There are roses blooming, and apple trees, and jasmine and irises and lantana and really everything else that ever blooms.  Our front lawn is a field of dandelions.  There are lovely yellow wildflowers here and there in neglected corners.  I guess that’s typical for desert climates to have these moments of glory, after the rains.  Before the long hot spells.

So sometimes I imagine that time, instead of being a line that we move along, is more like a spiral moving gently upward.  Then I imagine all of the most beautiful moments, the most meaningful and truest moments, right in the middle.  That way we never leave them behind.  Time can move on, spiraling around through the harder times, but always with those true and beautiful times in the middle.

I guess it’s about the first official day of spring.  In Fresno, though, spring is nearly over.  The great drying up will begin.  The mountains, cool and blue on the horizon, will fade away and become mythical for the rest of the summer.  The pea plants will dry up and turn brown.  The dirt will crack.  The sky will glare white.

But not today yet.

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