There's no place like home

Leaving a place you have lived after 17 years is something akin to saying goodbye to a limb. There are lots of things that I will miss and never forget. I could prolly say goodbye everyday until I leave and then about 3,234 days beyond that. But for today we will start with something simple. Something lovely.

Will you look at this? This is a plum tree. This is what it looks like in Spring. This is when it looks its best. With its little pink buds, like a newborn's baby toes. So delicate. So surprising. So happy. Like a signpost telling me Holy shit senorita, it's springtime! Dust off your huaraches and don your sunglasses. This sun is about to shine.

Well, along with the plum tree we have a smokebush yet to grace us with her dramatic purple leaves. Not to mention the sweet scents of my wisteria as it blooms, not once, but twice each year. The jasmine out back, the wild tomatoes, the artichoke plant that grows back every summer. My god, the artichoke plant! That bold ghetto plant that bears fruit no matter how little sustenance it's given. No matter how many weeds crowd around it, no matter how many ants climb it's brittle stalk. Oh, artichoke plant, I can always count on your brazen, thorny purple crown to rear its head above us all.

Ah, there is always so much to look forward to. Can I tell you about the crazy trumpet vine? What about the clamouring loquat tree? Or the bees and the lavender? A cactus that will bloom? That singular echinacea flower? The dozen or so strawberries that come late summer and bring with it such sweetness in such a delicately small package? And what about me? And my hands in the dirt and my freckled skin and my bluejeans faded by the sun.