Ridiculous Beauty

All around Marin the quince are rich with blossoms. I've never seen them so thickly pink. The acacia are either reaching their zenith or taking the first step away.

In Mill Valley at the intersection to Muir Beach it's daffodil city. There are bridal white fairy trees, pink ornamentals, and stately magnolias on every street and corner through Larkspur. Daphne scents evening walks and azaleas continue to be brightly proud.

In my backyard the white camilia is budded, the dogwood doing its naked possum act before it bursts into flower. The scented geranium has slung its crazy legs over the edge of the flower bed while tips of green are making their way ant like along the branches of spirea. Arbors of iceland roses are covered in suckers, obstinate from the start.

The blue jay, more opinionated than the morning crows, has returned without a word of where he's been. And even though I was ruthless cutting back the hydrangea in the fall, it's gone wild. Again.

The neighbors eavesdropping plum tree is fat with buds while the other neighbor's apple tree has yet to consider another spring. The peach and apricot trees on the far other side haven't joined the party yet but they have a reputation for showing up late, lipstick on their teeth, hems a bit short.

Next door a lime tree is hung with fruit, the product of pure neglect while on my deck red habaneros hang by threads to the decimated plants that bore them, stalks and stems decomposing in their terracotta pots.

Some days it's difficult to consider that the environment is breaking down from over consumption when all I can see is the tenacity of its ridiculous beauty bursting out all around me.