To the magnolias around the city,
You splash the streets with a pink-purple song in spring and fall. Every year, twice, you present your pastels to us. The knowledge that you will bloom again can melt the coldest hearts and heal the broken ones.
Come March, come November, when your blossoms explode into the world, I worry that your flowers will fall soon. One blink: your magic is gone. Your petals lay scattered on our sidewalks, and you are green again. Looking at you still, silent and tall, I do not see a tree. I see something more wonderful than spring itself: the memory and the promise of two springs.
There are so many of you among us. Some for everyone to marvel at, some tucked away out of sight. The glimpse of your aura above the Philly brick fills me with a language I didn’t know I could speak. Last night, as the temperature dropped below freezing again, I dreamed I knew where every magnolia in the city was. I could see you all out there, swaying in the dark. I felt your fearlessness. No force of wind, rain, or ice could defeat you. You paint a map of life and joy in Philadelphia.
Love, Julien