There is magic associated with
springtime in the south. It is called
Azalea. These beautiful flowers dot the
bush unassumingly. They behave like
beautiful young girls who pretend to be coy. They have perfected the art of modesty while all the while being
completely aware of the spectacle they create.
In hours just before the sun begins
its journey to regain its throne, powerful in the Southern sky, the azaleas
sleep. The crickets sing the lullaby and
the mosquitoes have not yet been forced to hide from the heat of the day. The dew begins to collect lightly on the
leaves. A gentle cleansing for the fair
maidens by the attending servants. As
the sun warms the ground, the blooms begin to do their dance. They pretend to be shy. It looks as if they never want to open, self
conscious of what they will look like when exposed. But it is the game that the sun and the
Azaleas often play. They are like
teenagers who have just discovered the opposite sex and have begun their
flirtation with desire. The flowers
pretend to protest and the sun pretends to be convinced. So the courting continues. Eventually, and with great deliberation, the
blooms open and the squares downtown burst forth with color. The variety of the sight proves that the
rainbow is not the only spectacular natural creation.
They sit there, gliding in the
wind, proud of themselves. They know
what sparks they provide. They are the
backdrop for the historical tour. They
are the vision out the window at work that reminds of a simpler time. They are the special something that makes the
picnic with your lover special. They are
the reason you chose to say your vows and kiss the bride outdoors.
Azaleas are the roses of the south
and they guard their title with fierceness. The blossoms appear to be modest in their brilliance but are boisterous
in their display. Do not let the
subtleness fool you, for they are cunning. They are jealous little beauties and will not settle for anything other
than center stage. Without regret or
remorse – and with complete intention – they will steal your heart. If you encounter them on vacation, they will
be the first thing you mention when you return home. If you have grown up around the flower, they
will cast that spell that ensures they are what you miss when away.
They smile and preen. Anxious to be for you whatever you want them
to be. The one beautiful thing in your
day that makes you smile. Their effort
is tireless. And they always try harder
if they have been picked by the hands of a child. It is as if the pudginess in the young
fingers provides a second life for the flower off the bush. They find the ability to make the color
brighter, the smell sweeter and the enchantment deeper. You would think that the flower would be
devastated. Plucked from the root of
life and thus condemned to wilt and die prematurely. One would think that such a proud flower
would balk at the displacement. That it
would be in revolt in spite of itself and wither to dust immediately rather
than endure a slower, less graceful death. But the azaleas glow and rise to an occasion that they have waited for
since the beginning of the blossom. Like
an adolescent girl that has just been chosen for her first dance. They know they will soon be in the place
that makes all their efforts worth while. They have begun the portion of the journey that takes them to that
coveted spot. The spot of adoration and
appreciation that only a child can provide.
The fat fingers hold tight to the
stem and pull and tug till the blossom gives way. The child squeals with delight and places the
flower delicately to his nose to feel the tickle of the soft petals. The smell is sweet and the child will not
realize for quite some years that this smell has infected him for the rest of
his life. The child’s only concern right
now is the destination. With an energy
reserved only for children, he dashes towards the house as fast as his small
legs will carry him.
“Momma, Momma, Momma!” he shouts as
he throws open the screen door with one hand and an outstretched flower in the
other. The azalea knows the moment of
glory is near. Momma looks down and sees
the gift. The child’s wide eyes look up,
searching with anticipation for what he is sure will happen next. Momma smiles with her whole face, gently
accepts the token and kisses the child on his round, sweaty face. The child’s mission is successfully
completed. With one movement and full of
satisfaction, he is off again to resume his exploration of the southern
outdoors. Momma turns around and places
the azalea in that spot. The one spot
that all flowers long to find. The place
of unconditional love, admiration, and devotion. That stained glass vase in his
Momma’s kitchen window.
Recent Comments