I knew that after the sun and rain this week that the daffodils at Tower Grove would be in bloom. All throughout the park were pockets of golden blooms, providing a bit of color — an end to winter and a promise of spring.
Today we walked about the park and looked at the spring flowers, and exhanged smiles with stangers who, like ourselves, are thankful for the gentle weather. At the faux ruins, we watched a couple of ducks make love. I called my roommate a voyeur. He asked, then, what am I? Duck pervert?
We had brunch at the Palm house — savory salmon lasagna, tender ham, and fresh fruit and delicate madelines, with a bit of bread pudding to fill in the corners. We ate outside on the patio next to the lily pond, alternately warmed by the sun and cooled by the gentle breezes. An elderly woman walked by with her old, old dogs and we smiled and said cute dogs. She smiled back, laughingly called them her ‘attack dogs’, as the one nearest came up to me, wheezing, to get a soft pat on the head.
I have an overwhelming desire to wrap myself in beauty and wear it like armor. Whatever anger I felt earlier in the week is gone, burned out. Now all I feel is sadness: for a continuing legacy; for those who have lost their lives too soon; and for those who are afraid. The sadder I feel, the more desperate I am for beauty.
