Still Life: Spring
Words, images and questions for paying attention.
In Portland, spring didn’t arrive. It cascaded.
It started in March with the crocuses. Small, brave, pushing through cold ground. Then the camellias. Then the daffodils. Then the tulips. Then, in what felt like a single weekend, the cherry blossoms and the magnolias and the dogwoods all at once, and suddenly every street in the city looked like it was blushing. And then the peonies. Oh, the peonies. Those heavy, ridiculous, almost too-beautiful peonies that bloom like they’re trying to prove something. The whole thing lasted months, one wave crashing into the next, and it was the most beautiful spectacle I’ve ever seen in my life. I mean that literally. It holds an irreplaceable spot in my heart and in my mind.
I lived in Portland for years, and I never got used to it. Every spring felt like a surprise. Like the city was doing something generous and temporary, and you had to pay attention or you’d miss it. That urgency, the knowing that it wouldn’t last, was part of what made it so stunning. You couldn’t take spring in Portland for granted because it was always arriving and always leaving.
