And Then, Amidst Six Inches of Fallen Snow and Several Months of Stress, an Amaryllis Blooms on Nichols Avenue

For years I've had this plant and it usually flops about with no excitement, no story, no glory, and a pleasant green sprouting of leaves. For a long while, the plant was left at my parents - the four years I was in Syracuse earning my doctorate, and nurtured by my father on his front porch. I'm not sure when he returned it to me, but he did, and it has been with me in Connecticut for another four years.

After the holidays, I said to Chitunga, "Look. I think that plant is trying to do something." As it bulbed and grew bigger, I also pointed out, "Wouldn't it be interesting if it bloomed when we entered the new house?"

Today, when I returned from Sean Mitchell's excellent Assignments Matter professional development at Fairfield University - a wonderful grant from the National Writing Project and the Gates Foundation - I noticed that she finally opened up. I learned on Friday, too, that the mortgage company is ready to close and today, this afternoon, I do a final walk through of the home I've purchased.

And she's in bloom. I took a photograph of her and noticed that she's standing proudly above a couple of Sudanese musical instruments given to me by Dr. Felicia McMahon and a set of Buddhist statues I've hosted in my home for several years. I couldn't help but think that through my personal philosophies, my intellectual meanderings with relocated refugees, and my Beargrass Creek Nature Preserver naturalist days, that the bright blossom is a symbol that everything has evolved at exactly the right time.

That is my hope - a hope that this is exactly what's meant to be.