The frangipanis are back, growing in musky clutches along the limbs of the old tree in our front yard.
I have watched the bare arms fixed in silent appeal to the sky over the cooler months we brand as Winter. The solid trunk protrudes at it’s base with a bulge, like the grey and wrinkly knee of a wizened elephant.
The tree seems so barren and quiet without it’s halo of rampant colour. As the months stretch on, I catch myself wondering; will the flowers ever return?
But then, the earth reaches some pivotal point of movement around the sun, and suddenly whispers with quiet urgency to the tree.
And, like magic, the flowers return.
Each morning now as I leave the house, I walk over a freshly laid carpet strewn with soft velvet drops of pink and white and yellow.
“Hello,” I think, picking my way through and round the fallen bouquets, each flower an exquisite expression of luscious (luscious) life.
“Hello. You are back!”
Kind of like us, wouldn’t you say..?
Sometimes, like the deciduous Frangipani, we drop all of our leaves and flowers, our boughs bare and vulnerable.
During these times, we retreat from the world, purging, cleaning, hiding, resting.
We wonder if we’ll ever get our flowers back. We wonder if we’ll ever call back our spark, our heart, our mojo.
But then, with one final turn into the Sun, we do. We dress in our finery, we dip with beauty, we soar with strength…
Perhaps, right now, you can relate to the cycle of the deciduous tree? Perhaps you feel you have been caught in stasis, hiding from the current of life, catching breath, quietly intuiting that you are going through a metamorphose into different form, a different phase, not knowing exactly at what point your wings will unfurl.
Trust. Even now, you are orbiting. Even now, you are changing.
We all need times to drop our garb to take refuge from the world. The rest is part of your resurgence.
But me-oh-my, when your flowers return, there is nobody, but nobody, like you in the room.