A Boston spring is always one of the best springs, and there is something more magical about making my way home through the Southwest Corridor Park when the apple blossoms are sweetly scenting the night air, and spring bulbs are blooming resplendently against the dark earth.
At the corner of our building, an American dogwood enchantingly begins its leafless blooming period like a flurry of white butterflies alighting on its branches. A Chinese dogwood was planted several years ago in the square in front of our entrance – the perfect choice as it extends the blooming season by several weeks, coming in right after the American variety finishes.
This little section of Boston, with a few benches, its flowering trees, and the verdant explosion of spring in full effect, works its charm quietly. For many years I took it for granted, brushing quickly by its subtle beauty in the rsh to get home or somewhere else.
These days it is a destination in its own right, my own ability to find the attractiveness in the smaller and quieter scenes a welcome and intentional shift to a new perspective. The second half of one’s life, already well underway should I be so lucky, is about such a change in perspective.
As if on cue, the lilacs have begun their blooming season – nostalgic and new all at once.