it seems the camellias blanket staircases and sidewalks all over the city. i always step aside, careful not to step on their pink brightness. they make me smile, i even like them better on the concrete than on those big bushes. as if they fall on purpose, conspiring together to make beauty in odd places.

the new ivy leaves are fresh spring green, shiny. my fingers can't resist touching their softness as i pass by them, hanging off brick walls. they are smooth and fragile, just born and happy to see this warm spring day. they contrast with the dark elderly leaves, they push up and over to meet the sun. they surprise me.

i realize suddenly today that spring has come. sure enough, as i look up, the magnolia flowers grace trees on corners, reaching upwards with plush petals. they are on time, as they are every year in this desert climate where the days color into spring more quickly than my senses still expect.

every year the same changes, the air smells this way every march in the mornings, the plants know when to offer their fruit. and yet in this familiar, i am struck today with what has shifted since years past. i remember the way the world looked to my eyes last year at this time. i know suddenly the uniqueness of the passing into this particular summer, and i breathe with relief.

i am so thankful for the sense of walking forward. slowly maybe, and i am just me, like always. but it comforts me to cherish this idea, that i am altered, different from the me of past. i am not the same woman, girl that was.

and this tree has never blossomed quite this way. this new green leaf is living for the first year. and the camellias give up their life to lie together on the driveway, in a way that is possibly just for me to notice on an ordinary monday morning, a most magical celebration.