Wednesday February 9th
Fifty years ago, when our house was built, the owners planted an almond tree next to the house. Today it is twenty feet tall and equally as wide. It is completely out of place in a forest of oak trees, and we considered cutting it down when we first arrived. Almond trees need more water than oaks, drought has been with us for years here but, somehow, we left it because we know that when February arrives, especially the warm ones that have been creeping up on us for years, magic happens. The tree becomes a piece of floating beauty, the pale pink, tiny blossoms increase each day in volume and in the middle of a dark green forest one comes upon this surprising piece of ethereal nature.
When the branches were bare as winter arrived the first year we were here, I filled the tree with white paper Japanese lanterns lit by solar batteries. At night they glow in the blackness of the forest and, with the tree looking as though it is so light it could fly away, the lanterns full of brightness anchor it to the land. It is a joy, and everyone who arrives smiles in delight. These days that is mostly the Amazon or UPS delivery staff, their faces masked and unsmiling, racing through their days. Yesterday the brown truck backed fast up the slope of the driveway, the driver descended. He pulled his mask down and just stopped while he lent against the van. He stood in the sun for a minute and gazed at the tree, not knowing I was watching from the balcony on the front of the house. Mask back on, he found our packages and left them in the garage, leapt into the truck and drove away, while I hoped the beauty of the almond tree with its soft pink blossoms had eased his day.
