springtime magic

Quince blossoms on a misty morning.

Riding my bike home from work yesterday, a glorious afternoon, I passed a young couple sunning themselves on their front stoop. Our first almost-seventy-degrees day, and hopefully not our last.  This couple often walks by my house to check out the garden -- big fans of what I consider a terrible mess. But they see magic. Every time I see her, she makes a magic-themed, excited exclamation.  As I whizzed by, we all recognized each other at once, and she threw up her arm to wave and hollered, "HEY... MAGIC GARDEN LADY!" 

It was a satisfying, wonderful little moment.

And it made me feel a little better about my run last weekend.  As I passed a splendid garden, one I make a point of seeing as often as possible, for the first time I saw the owner puttering in one of the beds.  A young bald guy with a most enormous beard.  I threw up my arms (both of them!) and said, "THIS IS MY FAVORITE GARDEN!"  

He stood for a moment, face frozen, and then smiled a sheepish smile and said thank you.

(Did they make a movie about this, passing it on?  I don't know.  My friends will confirm that I've only seen about three movies per decade. But I think this rings a bell.)

Later on my run, I came up behind a dapper man in a tweed jacket and cap walking with a small boy, also dapper, but dragging his coat.  I swung over to the road, because they were approaching a woman with a big dog.  And when I say "big," I mean, not-big, but definitely a carnivore.  The little boy turned to look at me, then the dad did, too, identical brown eyes.

"Oh!"  I said, "Were you the dragon in the Christmas Revels?!"  Of course I knew he was.  In fact, this particular dragon has always been my favorite, because after he'd been duly slain by St. George and it was time to stand up and take a bow, his dragon britches fell down ~ploomf~ right around his ankles.

And he naturally looked confused and terrified, too, and said, "Yes...."

"I'm...."  Then I realized we were never in a Revels together, that he'd joined the chorus after my time, but that he would know my boy.  "I'm Eli's mom!"

His face shifted into a big grin and he said something I couldn't hear.  I said such and so about his beautiful boy, since we were on the subject of offspring, and moved right along.

I figure that, hey, if I'm going to look like a drunken fawn out there, why not act like one, too?

I've mentioned before how much I dislike running, but I'm finally getting to the point where it's not like the Spanish Inquisition.  It almost feels good, and I don't have to desperately cast about for external motivation to get out there.

And as for the garden, it really is a mess.  A spectacular mess.  Fecund.  I always like to say that life wants to happen.  And in April, I guess that does feel like magic.