Boston in full spring bloom is an astonishing sight to behold. Even beneath an overcast sky, one that constantly hinted at rain and occasionally spit some out, the blossoms carried their beauty through the universe. As we closed out our 9th wedding anniversary in the city where it happened, we slowed our steps to savor every last moment.

The flowers seemed to join in the celebration as well, nodding their droopy Sunday morning sleepy-heads with the merest rustling of a breeze. The tulips here were at their peak ~ further along than their more exposed Public Garden counterparts. These isolated microclimates of little front yards warmed by the sun and buffered from the wind are often ahead of their brethren. They also sustain more delicate species, sometimes allowing for an extra Zone of hardiness.

Through the frame of a glossy black iron gate, portals of floral majesty deceptively hint at expansive meadows of wildflowers. An optical trick, it’s a nifty way of making a tiny space seem larger: a pocket of beauty held in a single gaze, multiplying into a thousand levels of memory.

Beneath the tulips and bleeding hearts was a groundcover of Vinca, in purple pinwheels of bloom. When the bulbs die back, this ground cover will sustain the space through the summer, its handsome dark green foliage backing the occasional re-bloom.

Still, nothing will compare with this stellar spring show, the first flush of the season when we need it the most.

My love of tulips has been constant since I was a little kid, yet I don’t plan them that often at my own home. Probably because they are so fleeting and unreliable when compared to more stalwart perennials and shrubs. Tulips are better admired in large public beds, or in the smaller private gardens of someone else, where they can decide whether to simply pull them up when the show is over or attempt to get another year or two out of the bulbs. I’m not emotionally ready to make such decisions if it’s at all possible to avoid them.

I have similar issues with pansies – I love to see them in these early cool days of the season, but I’d never plant them in my own garden, as happy and bright as their faces may be. Perhaps one day I will appreciate the temporary beauty they provide and embrace what we know will never last. There is charm in that, somewhere, and I will seek it out one day.

For now, I will lift my eyes to the cherries – we have a Kwanzan in our backyard that is also in full bloom, and it’s glorious. Bridging Boston and upstate New York with the beauty of their pink blossoms, these exquisite pom-poms are the perfect bookends for an anniversary weekend.

We made it to Braddock Park, where the fountain was running for another season. It trickled the soothing sound of water all the way up to the second floor window. As soon as it got just a little warmer, we would open it up and listen to the tranquil song – a song of spring, of summer, of love.

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Lions are all over Boston, something I never really noticed before and now notice everywhere. From the emblem and icon of the Lenox Hotel, to the guardians and entrance-greeters at the Capital Grille, to the grandiose pair lounging by the interior staircase of the Public Library, these felines regally pose around every corner of the city. (I think there’s also a prancing one atop the Old State House or some similarly historic building). Playing into that theme was our last culinary exercise of the anniversary weekend: brunch at the Lion’s Tail.

We arrived just as they were opening, passing a few smartly-planted pots of spring flowers spilling all their glory onto the sidewalk. (Andy tried to steer me clear of the dog pee that had just been sprayed near one of the pots because that’s what a good husband does.)

Located well into the South End, this is one of the relatively newer restaurants that is bringing the area further into gentrified popularity. While its menu was whimsically filled with a long list of cocktails (picture an adult fairy tale with fanciful drawings to match) they also serve food, including Sunday brunch.

Fresh roses filled small vases, while a large lion head roared from the back wall. The BLT Benedict I ordered came with thick slabs of bacon, while Andy’s French toast (somewhat lacking in batter and on the dry side) had an abundance of fresh berries. It felt like their specialty was cocktails, and no one should be faulted for that.

They were kind enough to bring out a plate of ice cream sandwiches for our anniversary, which was a sweet touch, and a sweet ending to our Boston meals. (Not that we needed any more sweetness ~ the bulk of a Chocolate Tower Cake was already boxed up for the ride home).

Our umbrellas must have acted to ward off the rain, as we began making a leisurely walk back with a couple of stops along the SoWa Market. Sad to see that Bobby’s is no longer in its original location, and the whole market isn’t what it used to be since moving into that basement area. Boston changes, as we all do ~ sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. A row of Kwanzan cherries was in magnificent full bloom, and beauty seemed to be following us, or vice versa. We took our time, winding our way through the South End, closer to Copley, and closer to the end of our trip…

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In almost every relationship that has lasted for nineteen years (while this is our 9^thwedding anniversary, we’ve been together for a decade more than that) there comes a point when routine overtakes everything and there seems to be nothing new under the sun. This doesn’t bother or frighten me anymore ~ it’s more of a comfort and source of contentment. That takes a while to grow into, and not everyone does. We reached that point a long time ago, and the companionship, friendship and love that we share has been more resonant and lasting than either of us might have expected.

However, there are moments when your husband still has the ability to surprise in wonderfully unexpected and unplanned ways, like when we were finishing up dinner at Nahita. Uninspired by the dessert listing and perhaps missing one key component of our very first wedding weekend, Andy mentioned the Chocolate Tower Cake at the Four Seasons. We recalled the lunch we had there (thank you Aunt Elaine) right after our ceremony, and how scrumptious that towering cake had been. At first it was just a nice memory, then we both looked at each other and sort of dared the other to suggest it without even speaking.

Realizing we were just around the corner from the Four Seasons, we got the check and made our way to the Bristol Lounge. One Chocolate Tower for two (actually listed as serving five, ahem) was about to arrive.

It was just as we remembered it ~ decadent, extravagant, and sky-high. For five it would be an overindulgence. For two it was utterly ridiculous, and just what we wanted. It arrived to the stunned onlooking of the table near us ~ a rowdily fun group of five who were at the tail-end of their meal and looking for something more. They asked what it was, so I showed them a slice and extolled its virtues. Hooting and hollering, they said they were going to order one, and a few minutes later they were digging in. (Andy jokingly asked the waiter for a cut of his tip since we’d added on such a big item.) We were there to spread the love ~ love of cake, and love of love.

Filled with both, we boxed up the remainder and tried our best to walk off everything we had eaten. There was still no rain. The walk was wonderful; the company was better…

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