Garden Musings on a Historic Anniversary

SAN FRANCISCO--99th anniversary of the 1906 quake. So calm and still and warm. "Quick, THREE beers!" calls the Olive-Sided Flycatcher from a distant perch. An Anna's Hummingbird buzzes his belligerent song. I hear the construction machines down below at the park, preparing the amphitheatre for our free summer concert season. The calla lily next to me looks shriveled, like it's seen better days. I guess I better water my little indoor cups of evening-scented stock. Tall stalks of pink--freesia, I think--have keeled over in spite of our adept gardener-landlady. A raven lands with much ado on the lightpost and croaks loudly, twice, surveying the scene with a drooping wing. Are those house finches, chirping earnestly in the next yard over? The gladiolus and the white iris stand proud in the garden, and I love the soft purple blooms of the sage, though its herbal scent goes against my expectation of an equally soft floral fragrance. A lone purple princess flower continues the garden impression that it's a little bit thirsty, slightly past its prime today. What is that bird with the thin, plaintive wheeze, whining again and again?

And yet, the new pale mauve blooms on that young, green plant, the fiery hummingbird flashing past my head, the Japanese maple burning against the shadowed fence... The cycle of life continues here, even if a few of us are past our prime. The seal of San Francisco depicts a phoenix rising from the ashes.