The palo verdes are blooming
On our gems and what they tell us about our lives
Hello friend,
When Mark and I first got together, we lived in different places. Mark in Phoenix and I in Santa Fe. Deciding that we were both too old to dither about, I soon moved in with him, though we would go back to Santa Fe for longer stretches. Now, we’ve reversed the arrangement, spending most of our time in New Mexico, and returning to Phoenix for the holidays or when all three of his kids are in town, as they are now.
Though it’s a sprawling city, it is one of the sweetest smelling places I’ve ever been—at least Mark’s neighborhood is. In late winter, the orange blossoms perfume the air, and now there is a different yet equally lovely scent that teases me. Is it the yellow canopy of the palo verdes? The small purple flowers that dot the neighbor’s hedges? The trees with small, ivory pompom-like blossoms? I stand outside with Huck, both of us noses to the air trying to discern the story aloft, mine of flowers, his of…well, who knows, but probably not of the same floral origins.
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