Sometimes, when spring is entering the land with first pale green buds of the white lilac streching against the gray and wetish sky, I look out of my office window searching the tangle of orange-red roofs for a smal brownish rectangle of grass. Nothing special, just a peace of dirty chestnut under a bare and scanty apple tree. I seek neither the bizarre branches pruned, nor the sound of the red tabby mackerel neighbor’s cat looking for a new bride. My eyes are wandering deeper, searching for olive-green tips. Pointed traps designed by a malevolent troll for invisible giants.
Two, three, warm sunny days, and the alleged pitfall will flowerish into a splenderous tulip.
She’ll stretch her snakelike leaves into the azure sky, most proud and arrogant. Always aware she is the one and only legitimate imperial descendant under all the vulgar mud-born springtime green. Wars and intrigues were fought out just for her, property and lifes were squandered thousandfold unscrupulously for her perishable favor. After what others of the thriving creatures whole eras were named for ?
No, nothing on this earth is like a tulip in the springtime!
I‚m smiling. Summer’s coming, and with him comes the heat, and with the heat, the delicate and aristocrat tulip will wither into an unsightly yellowish skeleton, leaving only a thick unsightly bulb deep in the ground under the voluptous fruiting apple tree…until the spring.