A Mimosa Tree with Sweet Abandon

A No-AC Spring Morning

It’s an exquisite spring morning as I write this. Mild enough to need no AC as yet. (Living in Oklahoma means there will be many days to come with the expensive cold air blowing.) As of now windows can be flung wide open with the breeze merrily dancing in.

Be A Novelist The mimosa tree next to the patio is in full bloom.  She sends her sweet perfume in through my kitchen window.  When I step outside in the early morning hours before the breeze starts up, the air is heavy with the fragrance. No white-coated, department-store clerk asks if I can afford this luxurious perfume. My mimosa freely shares it with me.

Moment of Discovery

I was nineteen when I saw my first mimosa tree.  Married early, I left my Kansas home for Texas. Since my husband was in the Air Force, Uncle Sam transplanted us to West Texas.

One day while riding in a carload of young marrieds – all of whom seemed to be from Texas – I saw a mimosa in bloom. I was aghast. All those delicate feathery little thingies growing on a tree. I could scarcely call them blossoms; they looked nothing like any blossom I’d ever seen in Kansas.

“Stop the car!” I shouted.

Brakes slammed.  I jumped out and ran up to my first mimosa tree and touched that feathery marvel. Then picked a few; then caught that soft, sweet fragrance.  The fuzzy tickled my nose.

Those in the car laughed uproariously. Mimosa blossoms were no marvel to them.  It was old hat. (To this day, I cannot remember if I invaded someone’s yard to enjoy that experience.)

All these years later, I still gaze in awe at those pink feathery tree decorations.  How could God have thought of such a thing?

“Too Messy”

A number of years ago, I knew an individual who cut down the mimosa in his yard. “Too messy,” he said.

Kids are messy too but we don’t get rid of them. Pets, too, for that matter.

Be A NovelistBut that was his choice.  I see it as a trade-off.  My mimosa, right outside my kitchen window, attracts a wide variety of colorful butterflies. And hummingbirds. And gives me lovely feathery thingies, and a blanket of sweet fragrance.

I’ll take the mess in exchange.  I’m pretty sure I get the better end of the deal.

A Life of Exchanges

Many things in life are an exchange, right?  Like writing for instance.  I’m willing to pay the price of spending untold, endless hours at the keyboard in exchange for the exhilarating experience of creating a very special something that no one else on earth can create but me.  Sometimes, it may even be read and enjoyed by others.  But even if it weren’t, I would still write.

If no one ever deeply inhaled the fragrance of the mimosa tree, she would still produce her perfume and diffuse it through the air, unconcerned as to where, or to whom, it may go.

Ah, such sweet abandon.

(I think my mimosa tree and I understand one another.)

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Photo credits: © Charles Wagner, Jr. | Dreamstime.com;

© Andre Maritz | Dreamstime.com

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