Highland Park Cotillion

Though the morning started out gloomy and threatening to rain, by noon the sun was out, the wind was calm, and the sky brilliant blue. Yes! A great day for a walk in Highland Park with Sugar. I convince Drew to go with us and we pile into the car in good spirits. We park along the edge of the road in front of other cars carefully avoiding the No Parking signs and head for the gate around the reservoir where the fried dough wagons usually circle during the Lilac Festival, mere weeks away.

Sugar strains at the leash, yelping to be allowed to greet all the hundreds of other dogs - BIG dogs - that are wandering about with their owners. He whines to say hello to the children who turn their faces to the sun and blink in disbelief that they are outdoors. The reservoir is drained, flashing us with its gritty stony bottom, refusing us any hope of summer's arrival. We climb the hill and find ourselves surrounded by huge beds of daffodils and deep blue miniature hyacinths.

Here and there a tree has donned pouffy white lace or a delicate shawl of wispy pink blush. A gentle sweetness floats on the air. Hundreds of people took the advice of the radio announcer, coming to greet spring and stretch their legs. Dogs, children, wheelchair ancients, couples cooing, singles jogging, shutterbugs everywhere. We drink in the beauty of color, shape, promise, desperately trying to hang on against the haunting thought of winter returning unbidden after taunting us, dangling a day of joy only to cruelly snatch it back.

Drew and I take our cell phone pictures, posing Sugar under the sweeping loaded boughs of blushing prima dona shrubs. Even lilacs have been coaxed early from their buds, unfurling delicate spirals into the early April air. It is glorious. We wander about, following our eyes, traipsing thither and yon ignoring the blacktopped paths in favor of the meandering grassy lawns that port us directly to the gems we seek.

An hour flies by, two. We begin to consider returning to the car, regretfully bowing to tasks we have conveniently ignored to indulge in this opportunity of inhaling life. Slowly we turn our steps toward the far side of the reservoir. We pass up tantalizing paths leading into verdant forests waiting to be explored and promise ourselves to return often. Sugar pauses repeatedly to taste this leaf and that petal and we do not hurry her along. Drew snaps more pictures.

Suddenly we crest a small hill. There before us, in dazzling splendor, lay a valley filled with bedecked trees, bushes and shrubs, each seeming to pirouette gracefully in the gentle breeze, showing off their prom finery, their elegant dresses, their best jewelry. Here a deep ruby tulip tree, there a sassy yellow one surrounded by pure white and fuzzy pink - so many types of trees the imagination is unequal to the task of believing what it sees.

They huddle in little groups like shy girls waiting to be asked to the dance floor, certain that their dress will be the key to popularity. Their gowns sway, eliciting excitement from everyone who encounters this private cotillion, this coming out of the belles, this rite of passage. We cannot tear ourselves away from the grandeur, and sit fascinated on a bench overlooking the whole as if from a balcony above a grand ballroom.

Such extravagant beauty melts the most frozen of hearts, brings a blush of color to the wannest cheek. Old men bow their heads in reverent awe. Toddlers reach out to touch the velvety softness. Couples hold hands and stare, daring to dream of weddings yet to be. Even the dogs are on their best behavior.

We finally tear ourselves away and slowly make our way back to the car. My soul is overflowing. To think that I almost didn't make the effort to come. To think that I almost thought I should do the dishes first, perhaps with a chaser of laundry. What was I thinking! Miss a once in a lifetime opportunity for the deadening drudgery of the commonplace? Dishes, laundry, papers will wait.
This year's cotillion was early and spectacular. I'm glad I came. I can think of nothing better to wish for my friends than a spring cotillion. I hope yours is as breath taking as mine.