Anemones

The first anemones on the market always remind me that spring is near.

I found these long stem anemones yesterday at the Ferry Building farmers' market. For $3. I wanted to whisper in the farmer's ear, "You should raise the price. These are really, I mean really, nice."

This is what I love about anemones. The best time to buy them is when they are still curled up, closed, playing ugly ducking to the swans they will become. They are hardly worth a second look.

But then, after a few hours, a day, depending on temperature and freshness, they begin to reveal themselves. And that, the slight opening tease, is the beginning of the pleasure. They curl back up at night.

And they perform this dance every day; opening a bit further as time goes on, showing off the colors and patterns previously hidden, closing up less in the evening until they drop their petals all together.

The dropping of the petals is its own enjoyment though. They do it slowly. The anemones loose their petals like a strip of silk stockings, their naked black middles remaining on the stem. No less beautiful in my eyes.

And it's a sin to remove even a petal before they have made their final bow. Which they will do when they are done.

I can't let a year go by without them.