Spring has arrived in California. Golden Gate Park is peppered with crushed, pink Magnolia blossoms, escapees that have drifted over the botanical garden’s walls and whose ultimate fate was decided under the foot of a passing pedestrian. The cherry blossoms around Stowe Lake have already bloomed and faded, so quickly and quietly passersby might not have noticed it was happening at all.
The fleeting nature of spring brings forth flora I can’t spot at any other time of the year and, as I hiked around Mt. Tam State Park and pieces of the Muir Woods this weekend, I hungrily snapped photos of the flowers peeking through reddish dirt.
I spent Saturday morning winding myself through redwoods, arriving at last above the tree line where I perched on a rock to watch the sun climb higher in an expansive cerulean sky. To my left, I could see the Pacific Ocean stretching out into eternity, to my right trees upon trees repeated themselves in an endless pattern that only nature can perfect. My hiking boots dangled toward the earth while I peeled my mandarin, carefully excising the outer skin to expose the bright, fleshy center, and thought a single word, “Perfection.”