05/26/2026
This huge lilac bush in my yard has become one of the deepest reminders of growth, resilience, and quiet love.
When I first moved here 15 years ago, I honestly hated her. She wasn’t nearly as massive then as she is now. Though even then, she felt too established to move, and somehow I could never bring myself to cut her down. So we stayed.
Over the years, we’ve weathered life together.
She stands right outside my living room window and has seen it all — every season, every storm, every heartbreak, every rebuilding. Living near the bay, the winter winds hit fiercely here, and this past winter during Blizzard Elsa, she stood her ground once again.
And now? She is blooming ferociously.
I harvested some of her flowers today and realized something: somewhere along the way, I fell in love with her. Even though I still don’t really love the scent.
Maybe that’s the lesson in it all.
Love doesn’t always arrive instantly. Sometimes it grows slowly through shared survival. Through roots digging deeper. Through standing beside each other through storms that should have broken us.
She stayed. So did I.
And now I can finally see her for what she has always been: beautiful, powerful, weathered, deeply rooted, and still blooming anyway.
