Yesterday, I checked off two items on my fall fun list: visiting the chrysanthemums in Conservatory Garden and seeing Saturn from a telescope on the High Line. It was a special day in a low-key sort of way – it was a regular work day too!
I had read that the peak bloom for the Korean chrysanthemums was the last week of October. The night before my city day, I debated whether to get up early enough to go. The only time I could go was before work, and that meant taking a 6:51 train to the city. But I knew I’d regret not pushing myself, more than I’d regret the lost sleep, so I set my alarm.
When I walked into Central Park at about eight in the morning, it felt peaceful and serene. I first walked along Harlem Meer before entering the garden. I watched two ducks soar over the lake in tandem and make a smooth water landing side by side, which made my heart ache a little. (As an aside, this week I am noticing nature as an exercise for my How to Winter book club – more on that a different time).
I turned into the Conservatory Garden. It was silent; I was the only one there at that moment. And the flowers! They were magical! Billowing waves of delicate flowers in white, pinks, yellows, reds, purples…I was listening to music and I felt like dancing around the garden. It was the most joyful encounter.
I took a few pictures to enjoy later and pulled myself away, taking the subway down to midtown and work.
Later, after leaving work at six, I took the subway again, this time downtown to Chelsea. There, I walked to the High Line for the final stargazing session of the season (which runs April through October on Tuesdays). I had wanted to see Saturn since being told to return for a good view in the fall. When I arrived at around 6:30, clouds obscured the planet, but after waiting about 15 minutes, the clouds drifted off and it was visible (but not to the bare eye) once more. I took my turn at the telescope and it was such a joy: Saturn looked like a toy, a perfect mini model, orb and rings. Except it was a view of the actual Saturn, 800 million miles away.
And so my workday was bookended by encounters with the earth and with the heavens.
Something interesting happened in the middle. On line to order lunch, I realized that I was standing next to someone I had dated seven years ago. (I don’t think he usually works in my neck of the woods; this was a real “hameichin mitzadei gaver” situation). I had had complicated feelings about him for a while. I had liked a lot of things about him, but his personality kind of overpowered me and I couldn’t be myself around him. After “it” ended (pretty much mutually) I had really missed dating him even though I knew he wasn’t right for me. He got engaged shortly after and I am sure you can imagine, it was not easy and I did run through what-might-have-beens for a long time. But as I stood in line behind him (we basically pretended not to notice each other) I realized that I felt really okay. Meeting him did not throw me off. I still had a perfectly fine appetite afterwards. I did not immediately Google him or start ruminating about him. I giggled inside a bit about the slight awkwardness, and then went on with my day. This would have seemed impossible a few years ago. And I don’t know if the chrysanthemums, or the prospect of Saturn, had anything to do with it, but I think they were in there, were a part of this. Because my world is bigger. And a bigger world is a world of possibility. And possibility blooms into hope and hope nourishes resilience. And perhaps that allows one to reorient from what-might-have-been to I-can’t-wait-to-see-what’s-next.
It really was a heaven and earth kind of day.
And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.
(Photo credit: Jon Discipulo/Pexels)
