Think: tree.

B was for Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. B was for Bonsai.*

We marvelled at the age of these old trees, little trees from the sixties and seventies, though they appeared much older, lines marking the ways they'd been crafted and twisted over time into the shapes they're in now. The sign at the entrance said that bonsai is about pruning the branches and the roots evenly, to ensure balance.

Once in a while copper wires were employed. "That's cheating!" I said, but then remembered reading that it's part of the art, part of carefully helping to guide the branch where it needs to go. A support system for maples not much taller than my forearm, giant pines in miniature form.

"Living sculpture," said the sign. A slow, patient art.

There's a metaphor to be applied here. To family, to friendships. Some sort of lesson about pruning, support, patience.

But by the time we were ready to catch hold of it, we were outside in the fresh air, watching the wildness of Spring scream all around us: magnolia blossoms, white pear blossoms, green buds on the tips of oaks. Women in flip-flops, children released from the confines of their coats, crowding around cherry trees in camera-friendly poses. The smell of hamburgers wafting from the barbecue into the palm pavillion, confusing the cacti. The first bumblebees and flies ("did you know that flies hibernate?") of the season. Trees that looked like meat but felt like polished furniture.

Chaos.

We're the kind of people, I hope, who will always need a little of both.

*B was also for Beer, Burgers, B-movies and Bourbon. I'm lucky to have a husband who knows that I love the beauty of nature just as much as I love Kentucky whiskey and bad films.

© Zan McQuade. All rights reserved.