These buds were just opening in the Boston Public Garden when we were last there, but they hadn’t advanced to the point where I could recognize the tree. It didn’t matter – it wasn’t the name or variety that so enchanted and inspired me – it was the sense of freshness that signifies spring at its best moments. It was that essence of being new, of starting all over again, that felt magical. This year, more than most, I feel the tug of such a moment, when so many of us just want a fresh beginning. If 2020 taught me anything, it was that nothing stays the same forever, no matter how good or bad it might have been. There was something very scary and powerful about that realization, and I’ve carried it with me with a certain weary resignation, couple with a certain fortitude. The rose and the thorn – and without one the other is missing something.
