The week before last, we had a spell of warm, springlike weather. The thermometer rose to a near-balmy 75 degrees F, and fooled the camellia trees in our front yard into thinking it was Spring. Two of them suddenly exploded in pink and white, beautiful in themselves, but even more beautiful still against the brown grass and bare oaks nearby.
A few days later the temperature was down in the thirties again, but the flowers fight on against the cold. One at at time they surrender, and our driveway is now carpeted with petals. If royalty or saint came to call on us they could find no more perfect path to walk on than this.
McComb is drenched in colors like this each spring. Now I know that northerners take great pride in the annual autumn colors, and I have seen the change as it sweeps across the Shenendoah valley many times, but in my humble opinion it does not compare to this. Whole neighborhoods adorned with millions of flowers like silent prayers.
These two trees reminded me of what is to come. Spring is very nearby here -- mid-March at the latest -- and it is a time when it is very much worth it to be a small observer in a quiet corner of Mississippi.