This is what my grandmother's garden looked like from the kitchen window, and I didn't know I remembered it until I saw this photo. Funny how a picture can hand you back a whole spring you thought you'd lost. She'd have the kettle on, the radio murmuring some program about the weather in regions we'd never visit, and outside this branch would be doing exactly this — leaning toward the glass, blossoms fat and pale pink, new leaves the color of fresh lettuce. I'd be maybe seven, feet not reaching the floor from the chair, waiting for toast. The world was exactly as big as that kitchen. Now I'm the one with the kettle, and the branch outside my window blooms the same way, like it never heard anything happened in between. I made the toast. I didn't sit still for it, which she would've scolded me for, gently, the way she did everything. So this morning I did. Sat. Watched the petals do their slow, unhurried thing. The tea went lukewarm. The toast got eaten cold. She was right, of course. Everything tastes better when you're actually there for it.
#blossomseason #kitchenwindow #springrituals #grandmasgarden
