Plum: an Equinox Story

She calls herself Plum and she lives on a patch of dirt at the edge of a winding road near the river levee. She lives amid chipped quartz and granite, broken clam shells, and spikey dandelion leaves. She is never the first to bloom in late February; that honor goes to over-anxious clover with its pale face, followed by bright yellow dandelions. Next comes the tiny, unobtrusive violets, so very shy. But when Plum deigns to arraign herself in snowy white, then and only then, does everyone take notice. She is sweet and she is pretty and she is taller than anyone else for miles around. She puts on a good show.

But she keeps her secrets and tells no one how overwhelmed she feels once her buds burst out. Despite her grandeur, she feels exposed. She can trust no one. Even the sun is often disloyal, darting in and out between clouds and shadows. She doesn’t understand completely but she knows these blossoms must be protected. She knows this is vital. For once they are spread for all to see, the buzzy visitors will arrive. Nothing is more important.

Day, night, sunshine, rain, nothing alleviates this tremendous fear, the possibility she will be found unworthy. There is nothing she can do but stand and allow the energy to flow. This is her purpose.

She knows a time will come—won’t it?—when she will be able to let go. There will be the forgiving scent of fennel near the river, scrub jays and morning doves will perch in her arms, summer will have its fireworks, crow chatter, children’s laughter, gentle hands will come for her fruit. Then, then, she will rest.

But now the waiting is large. It engulfs her.

She watches the sky turn milky blue in late afternoon. She remembers this sky. It is an innocent sky. It does not remember summer fires or autumn soot. Here is a sky she can befriend. This sky will comfort her.

Photo by Anton Lecock on Unsplash