THE COMMUTE: SPRING
The morning-light struggles through a wash of grey, and as I start out to work I notice a thin mist still over the water.
The constant ocean breeze sends drifts of mahogany leaves rattling down the streets and bike paths. The split pods rumble and pop beneath my bicycle tires and the cars that pass; they are bleeding still from last night’s storm, and turn the ground brick-red where they lie.
There’s a feathering of green on the kapok tree, and the orchid trees strew a fragrant bridal path. The fetid odor of the skunk tree reaches me from the botanical garden a mile away; I find the smell strangely comforting, as long as it isn’t too strong!
I had taken a break from biking one week, to give my back a chance to recover from multiple stresses. So much has happened and been missed while I negotiated school traffic. The Chinese wisteria that was so gloriously purple is faded now to a sad grey, and the bougainvillea and golden shower trees have exploded with color: purple, fuchsia, coral and bright, bright yellow.
Miau! I am startled by a peacock calling loudly nearby. The feral flock that haunts our neighborhood has set up an insistent mewing; they can be seen trailing their magnificent tails as they pick among the banyan trees or strut on grassy front lawns. One morning I pushed my bike out to start my commute and found a young peacock parading on our roof.
The skies are still grey when I leave the office in the late afternoon. A blue and yellow macaw squawks overhead as I bike home. The last few blocks there is a delicious smell of rain that finally breaks into showers after dark.
March 17, 2015