Under the Jacaranda Trees

I went and sat under the jacaranda trees.  I took off my sunglasses so that the beauty of their pale purple flowers might reach my eyes unmolested by expensive polarized plastic.  I looked up into the branches.  The flowers floated against the pale blue summer sky.  They seemed to capture and slightly change the azure of the heavens like clusters of violet stained-glass.  The two cool colors played together as the bunches of flowers shimmered on the breeze.  The ephemeral and the eternal just out of reach above me.

The flowers fell to the grass around the trees and created purple drifts like magic snow.  On the ground they were still pretty.  They retained their soft, magenta hue but they looked like deflated balloons after a party.  The sweet, kind scent of the flowers fell with them and surrounded me in a protective veil.

Every year I anticipated the arrival of the lavender flowers with excitement and a twinge of sadness.  Their display was always so brilliant and so brief.  For years I had distractedly admired their beauty as I walked by.  It felt good to finally just sit under them.

The old dog panted next to me.  His tan furry feet were buried in the fallen flowers.  Liquid icicles of drool hung from the corners of his mouth as he blissfully surveyed the world.  He was not an overly affectionate dog.  He was loyal, strong and intelligent but never needing of attention; that was until those long tendrils of slobber appeared on a warm summer’s day and then with great skill he would maneuver to be petted while dripping saliva onto my arms and feet.  I could only push him away with false annoyance and laugh.  He smiled back at me with absolute contentment on his face and a sparkle in his benevolent, brown eyes.

Damn, I love this mutt I thought and then I wondered how many more times we might see the jacarandas bloom together.

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