APPREHENSION IN THE BRONX BOTANICAL GARDEN October 30, 1999
“Nature trembles with rapture when the spirit bows in homage before Beauty.”--THOMAS MANN
Sheathed in sienna to her yellow-fringed hem, shapely snugly fit, no older than ten, but soon voluptuous: anyone may easily tell.
Hurrying past my bench, her tock-tock pavement pace, the child’s shoes amaze, her modest French heels splayed just so, maturely clicking. So purpose-full, between sneakered jean-worn parents. The mother pushing a pram, chattering aslant to the man, oblivious, smoking, slouched, looking away, blowing. And everywhere, the skittish leaves shimmering, blushing, radiant in demise.
But she makes all the difference, striding resolute and wonderfully wielding a golden parasol, fringed, too, and timeless. Stunning she knows to canopy such loveliness, on this day, in this age, at this time so out of true.
Oh yes, young one, I understand, winter soon. But then I have known you forever, well before such years, or trees, or shimmering golden canopies.