Lately I’ve been making the effort to take a lunch when I’m at the office, to get out and into the air, to walk and make some sort of exercise effort because this stagnation only worsens in the winter, and I don’t want to dig this rut any deeper. On a recent trip down the road, I stopped in Stacks Coffeehouse for a hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookie. (What? I can do chocolate on chocolate – hell, I’m out EXERCISING. Did a car magically transport me those 200 feet?) I sat at the counter and sipped from the warm cup, and to my left was a potted mandevilla, with a few blooms of the clearest and brightest yellow. It was such a happy sight. There, in the early days of winter, was a reminder of the glory days of summer – and sun and vacation and pool water. Outside the window was a world of grays and browns, and we haven’t even gotten to the mess that snow and salted roads have yet to bring.
The plant was doing better than other mandevilla I’ve seen indoors, thanks to its proximity against a floor-to-ceiling window pane that let all the light in. It was a glorious vision, unfurling a few graceful tendrils and showing off a couple of other blooms at various angles. As much as I wanted to rush the winter through, I paused to reflect on the beauty of the moment. While the mandevilla bloomed like it was still summer, a gray squirrel with pointy ears of white hopped across the sidewalk and leaped onto the first trunk of a stand of trees. Nimbly navigating the climb, it soared from branch to branch, higher and higher, until it began moving horizontally through the canopy, foraging in the air for what it will need to get through the winter.
I finish my cookie and the hot chocolate – a lunchtime version of what the squirrel was doing, and much sweeter in my humble opinion. Taking one last look at the mandevilla and savoring its cheerful beauty, I exit the café and head back to work.
