when i was little i always loved magnolia trees. staring at a magnolia tree in my front yard, at no older than eight or nine years old, i decided right then and there something about my adult life. i said, when i have a yard, i’m going to have a magnolia tree. a big one. there is something unreal about the beauty of a magnolia tree in the spring. like you’re watching life blossom before your eyes as the pinks and creams of spring and happiness, sunshine and new beginnings erase the grays and sorrows from winter.
the promise of the healthy green buds. the analogy of spring really can’t get any better than a magnolia tree.
oddly enough, i never lost the intensity of that sentiment for magnolia trees.
as a adult, at the age i could have imagined i’d own one myself, i still marvel in the ability of a towering magnolia, unreserved in its desire to burgeon, to stop me in my tracks. i’m not sure i’ve ever even told anyone in particular of my love for this unapologetic perennial.
on a beautiful spring morning in a back yard in metairie, lousiana i was stopped in my tracks. these buds mirrored my own craving for freshness and sun. at a point of physical, mental, and emotional overload during my first mardi gras, this magnolia tree demanded my attention. demanded i watch life unfold. i let life unfold.