L'AMANDIER EN FLEURS
The Almond Tree in BlossomPierre Bonnard
Every spring, it forces me to paint it, Bonnard said,
and in this last version, one week before he died,
the subject fills the entire frame. There is no ambiguity
or irony; it’s the glory of this particular almond tree
and his delight in it. Which is how I feel about
my little orchard, the one my husband planted
before went into the light: two apple trees, two pears,
two cherries (both sweet and tart), two plums. When
they blossom, the hillside turns into a froth of surf,
a mid-winter blizzard, a billowing tulle gown.
When the bloom is over, petals rain down, pink and white,
spent confetti after the party is over. And then, so slowly
it’s imperceptible, the branches fill with fruit. On the
canvas, Bonnard’s surfaces tremble; everything is in a sort
of flux. As am I, selling this home of forty-five years,
dismantling this life we built together, diminishing down
to a small apartment. It’s only stuff, I keep telling myself.
But the yard and garden—how I hope the new owners will love
it as much as we did, won’t chop down the trees for easier
mowing, won’t let the perennial beds return to grass.
In Bonnard’s painting, dots of titanium white, cadmium
yellow, cerulean blue become a dazzle of blossoms, exploding
to fill the canvas, one tiny glimpse of what heaven might
be like. . . .
~Barbara Crooker
