The Blossoming of the Magnolias

"When every day seems the same, it is because we have stopped noticing the good things that appear in our lives." ~ The Alchemist

Like the blossoming of the Magnolias in white and pink shades, stretching out from the tree branches as though crying out to be seen. They look so dainty and innocent, with soft petals that slowly peels off and scatter to the ground, an expression of beauty dropped away. And if you come a little closer, you will smell its intoxicating fragrance - the scent of the magnolia, sweet and fresh. 

I See Pinks and Whites

It was springtime of 2010 when I first saw the Cherry Blossoms in bloom, and every year since then, I have eagerly anticipated its brief annual sojourn, an event that would be enough to forget the  painstakingly long winter that has just passed. 

The way they come out is certainly magical by itself - a symphony in allegretto - dazzling, swift and fleeting. It's intense and vibrant blossoms commanding the attention of any spectator who would always be tempted to stop and admire its transient glory. Because once the delicate flowers are blown away by the wind, they would quickly scatter around the ground, a fading resplendence that is here today and gone tomorrow. But the memories in the hearts that it has touched would linger long afterwards. 

There is always a sense of melancholy that is evoked by Cherry Blossoms, its sweet brevity marked by such intense beauty followed by a quick death is a gentle reminder of mortality, that life can be given and taken at any minute. But its subsequent blossoming in spring also allows us to hope and dream, that although life may not be ours for long it is still ours to leave a mark that would be remembered.

A Day Like Any Other

Today I won't be getting a 'surprise' bunch of flowers and a box of sweets. We haven't booked a fancy restaurant for an evening meal. Dinner will be a homemade meal of whatever cravings I have at the moment. And like every other night, we would be sat in front of a warm fireplace watching an hour-long BBC documentary on I-player before turning in for the night. 

I hold no grudge against Valentines Day although never once in my 28 years has it been different from any other day. And no, marriage has certainly not made me less of a hopeless romantic, it has in fact made me more aware of simple joys and little acts of love everyday. 

This morning, I noticed how the orchids in our front room have started to grow more buds. When we bought it in early autumn from a bargain shop for  £1.99, we estimate it would last at least before winter. But six months on it is still in full bloom, flowers seem to blossom well in a loving home. 

This is true with all the flowers in our garden where despite the unpredictable weather, the winter pansies are thriving, the spring bulbs are coming out and the leaves of the roses are starting to come back to life. They are the flowers that I get everyday, regardless of the season, not ordered from a florist but lovingly tended by my husband's own hands. 

And because today, we are allowed to be cheesy, this is what he has to say about this subject: 

"Love is not a sudden outpouring of rain but the gentle drizzle that keeps the garden in bloom all throughout the year."

Flowers, poetry and love ~ no, they don't need a special day to be celebrated. 

A Planter or a Builder?

“Are you a builder or a planter?”

It was hardly a pick-up line but that was the first question he has ever thrown at me and I was too flustered to answer in his native language the conversation never really took off.

As a group of friends, we were crossing the Strait of Gibraltar from a weekend in the Moroccan capital of Tangiers. We were discussing the merits of the Brazilian author Paulo Coelho and he has just been persuaded to read Brida which he was leafing through and where the difference between a builder and a planter was discussed.

I have since made up for the mental block and have since married the man who has made our garden his creative refuge. It doesn’t have to be sunny or warm, rain wouldn’t keep him away. It’s one of those things that make him “like Papa” and for which he is rather proud of (proof that “You marry your father”).

Thus, our idea of a weekend of relaxation is a trip to the local B&Q or for a more expensive treat it’s a visit to the Garden Centre. I love those outings. I get to pick which plants we get to have although they usually gets vetoed as they don’t suit the soil we have or they won’t get enough sunlight needed to survive (what do I know of those things?). I also do my bit of gardening too (without getting my hands dirty) by pointing out which flowers had to go to which pot and where to position them in the garden. Then of course, I get to take the photos when the flowers bloom!

“In his or her life, each person can take one of two attitudes: to build or to plant. Builders may take years over their tasks, but one day they will finish what they are doing. Then they will stop, hemmed in by their own walls. Life becomes meaningless once the building is finished. Those who plant suffer the storms and the seasons and rarely rest. Unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And by its constant demands on the gardener’s attention, it makes the gardener’s life a great adventure.” Paulo Coelho, Bride

A Garden That Blooms Every Day

I don’t get an occasional bunch of flowers to surprise me, I get to have a garden that blossoms everyday. Love is not about grand romantic gestures but little things that keep the spark alive.