The days are getting longer, more and more sunlight warming my bed of soil. I test the temperature by peeking a few leaves into the air. Ah — it’s finally acceptable late spring/summer warmth. It’s been another long winter and I’m so glad to finally be able to stretch and grow again. Hibernation gets boring! With each day, I’m feeling stronger as my leaves absorb more ultraviolet power and nutrients from the soil. The breeze helps me gently wave to my friends also starting to reappear. We are all welcoming another season of growth, joyfully basking in the sunlight. Our petals blossom into vibrant colors of red, fuchsia, yellow, brightening the landscaped respites throughout the concrete jungle and spreading our fragrance. It feels a little quiet, I don’t hear the usual sirens, honks, and human voices that often accompanies my maturation. The air also feels fresher — can it be, my pores inhaling less pollution? My blooming season each year is only a few weeks long, whether you see me or not, my friends and I follow an annual cycle.
High above the ground, me and thousands of lookalikes are budding. With each warmer day, we transform from stark brown branches to tiny buds of white and pink, gradually weighing down our sturdy trunks, eventually maturing into bright green leaves. I’m a rare beauty, chased and observed by humans trying to understand and pinpoint my exact brief blooming window of a few days each year. My pale pink and white petals are delicate and sensitive — too much wind and we disappear, too much temperature variation and we never blossom, too much rain and we dissolve. This is my favorite time, as I unabashedly flaunt my beauty, a beauty infinitely replicated across the orchards. I can sense a tranquility this year, highlighted by a lack of flashes and noise from the ground below me. As my season comes to an end, thousands of myself float softly to the ground, where we rest undisturbed to erode and fade back into elements.
Green, green, green. Fields and acres are covered with tiny me, each strong and erect. We adorn the parks as symbols of summer with our vivid green reminders of life. Millions of blades of us, ready to tickle the feet of humans, ready to soften the landing of toddlers learning to walk, ready to be gently flattened with picnic blankets. Our strength in numbers serve as a brilliant oasis of nature, complementing the vibrant blue skies above.
Cocking my head forward in a rhythmic motion with each step, I look around whimsically. Where ground food crumbs? It’s been oddly empty at my usual haunts. Hardly any human feet to weave around or pesky children chasing me. Wait, are those footsteps I sense? I quicken my pace and start to ruffle the wings, my head bobs faster. I try to roll my eyes back, bulging out hoping to catch a glimpse of the shadow coming after me. Squawk! I flap my wings fiercely hobbling a few feet off the ground in my panic to get away. Swiveling quickly, I gaze around eager to spy the cause of disturbance. I see no one. Where annoying humans gone?
