We are floating in a sea of jacarandas at the moment. Absolutely engulfed by them, bathing in them, can’t see anything else but them. The purple has completely taken over.
There are some you glimpse in their full glory in one eyeful…
… but others are peeking at you from behind houses and trees.
Some show up in your sideview mirror when you are driving, endangering the drivers around you. Or maybe at a traffic light.
Some decide to shower on you as you walk past while others are seen in the far distance.
Since they have nothing better to do, they cover the walkways and pavements and streets with flowers.
And they claim the grass too, marking out their territory as it were. And sometimes, secretly, they’ve even claimed the roofs.
They own this place at the moment, they rule.
All my rapturous proclamations aside (and I do get rapturous about such things every now and then), there is something to be said for this particular behaviour. The jacaranda tree knows to step forward for a few weeks every year, and do its own thing. Depending on the temperatures it either does a stunningly beautiful job, or merely a beautiful one. And once its moment in the sun is past, it knows to step back, to take its place in the green background, no longer standing out.
There is a sense of timing, and of being in tune with the circumstances; of having an agenda, but knowing exactly when and how much to push it. And there is a sense of aspiration, but also of knowing one’s place in the story, and being comfortable with it. Somewhere within this fine balance, lies the tree’s wisdom. Somewhere within its purple ebullience, there is a deeper grace.