I hook Franklin’s leash to his collar, open the front door, and step out. We stop on the landing before making our way down the three steps to the walkway. I take a deep breath and look around. No matter the weather, I declare that it is a beautiful day. And, with that, we begin our walk.
Each morning brings a surprise. What was tightly closed yesterday, is now vibrant in its exuberance. The magenta azalea conceals nothing today.
Franklin returns home and it’s Ivy’s turn. There is a particular house on the boulevard that is in some disrepair. Vines climb, trash collects, and yet the bulbs greet us as we wander past. I was taken with the tulips in the stage just before opening. They remain in a state of anticipation, or perhaps of potential. I want to tell them to take all the time they need.
And, there is not a day when I don’t marvel at this sycamore at the top of the street, its white trunk painting a picture against the backdrop of blue sky. I stand beneath it, Ivy waiting, and declare again that this day is beautiful.
I drove to Brandywine Park this week to see if the cherry blossoms were in bloom. They were not. But on the way home, I saw daffodils growing wildly free near the stone wall. It was evidently their time.
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