Managing to sit still and take in the flowers

I’m trying something new: sitting still.

 

I had a bunion removed from my left foot last Friday. As I write this, I have not yet seen the results, because my instructions are to leave the voluminous wrappings in place until my first post-operative visit, three days in the future.

 

When I walk, I am supposed to keep the weight on the heel area of my left foot; it has been left to me to decide whether I need any supports as I move around–a cane or walker, for example. I am getting around quite well, I believe. But it probably looks like I am in pain as I toddle along, concentrating on where I am placing the weight when I use my left foot.

 

I feel fortunate to have had the surgery and be bunion free for the first time in two or more decades. The problem had always just been that my left foot was funny looking until the last few months, when I was beginning to experience pain as I walked. It turns out, though, that I am not very good at sitting still–I will just get settled, then realize there was something I would have liked to have taken care of.

 

Oh, well, “four to six weeks” will soon be over.

 

Just maybe I will sit still long enough to appreciate my spring flowers. True to the promise of the little green sprouts a few weeks ago, I now have a long line of blooms: the hyacinths are a hundred or more tiny blossoms cooperating to look like one fist-sized bundle of color. Fortunately I don’t have to choose which I like more–their eye-catching brightness or their gentle airborne perfume. When the wind isn’t blowing it away, the scent of the hyacinths is enough to make passersby stop in their tracks and take a deep breath.

 

The daffodils and tulips command attention for their sheer numbers. The general impression is of giant, randomly distributed dollops of paint, but as soon as one takes a moment to look at individuals, it becomes a matter of transfixing detail. Not only each flower, but each petal has an elegance all its own. The daffodils have a flat background with a frilled ring which extends forward. One is led to wonder how a flower ever got the idea to look like that

 

The tulips, alternatingly bright red or yellow, are remarkable examples of engineering. They open and close depending on the amount of sunlight, yet the delicate petals never seem out of alignment.

 

I might also manage to sit still to listen to the increasing variety of bird song. It comes back so gradually, one might convince herself it’s been here all along. Up at the cabin last week, we heard trumpeter swans and even sandhill cranes, and while it’s a pleasure to identify those individual sounds, the whole symphony can be quite a delight, if only one takes a moment to listen.

 

Time will tell how I do on this matter of sitting still while I convalesce, but I admit I don’t hold out much optimism for myself on that count.