There’s nothing quite so beautiful as a magnolia tree in full spring bloom.

The flowers seem to have fullness which drowns out any other trees unlucky enough to be found blossoming beside them.  Part of the scientific reason for their robustness is that they appeared way before bees got into the habit of pollinating flowers.  Magnolias were attracting beetles to do the business, so got all tough to prevent damage by little beetle legs and jaws.  The net effect though, is these wonderful – almost fleshy – strident pink and white bowl-like petals that look good enough to eat.

But, like all spring blossoms, their season is short and one by one the giant petals fall to the ground and rapidly become an ugly brown pulp underfoot.  Such a rude transition.

It’s never nice to say goodbye to beautiful things.  We want them to go on forever.  But seasons are a constant reminder of the relentless cycle of life.  And in time, summer causes us to forget the ugliness of spring’s death.

My Dad died this year.  He was a giant of a man, respected by all, loved by many, standing with bold colours in a world where many are content to be small and blend in.

Magnolias in Cornwall Park on the first day of spring, 2010

I walked around Cornwall Park on 1 September this year, the first day of Spring, and what would have been his 60th birthday.  The magnolias were out in force and struck by their imposing presence against the blue sky, I was reminded that a life well lived, no matter how brief the magnificence might have been, still makes an impact.  And when those lives end, the stage is set for others to shine.

There will be other magnolias.  They will die too.  But their significance, their bequest to the life remaining, never does.