In California, the chaparral plant life grows at the base of the mountains, where wildfires cease the current living shrubs, thus allowing an new species of plant life to bloom from seeds found deep below.
The two months I have been here, at the peak of spring, the plant life has morphed every few weeks. As soon as the last petal of one flower has fallen off a tree, a new beautiful flower has blossomed along the fences. Or sprinkled on the trees. One week, cherry blossom petals are dotting my hair, and the next week an uproar of rose aroma is singing to me every morning on my fifteen minute walk to work. It is beautiful.
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