POV

Ikebana: The Scent of the Season

Spring in the city is a messy slushy of shitty subtropical monsoon and allergens, good Irish weather at best.

Story by Teo J. Babini Photos by Muge Karamanci
Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Spring, in theory, is the most beautiful season. Immortalized in many a classic song, it promises an initial respite from bitter Winter. It is a time of happy hippies and gentle rain, a sip of wonderful warmth before the oppressive heat blanket of Summer; a time of blooming flora…

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

But, my father always cautioned against “buying flowers from a snake charmer”. Spring in the city is a messy slushy of shitty subtropical monsoon and allergens, good Irish weather at best. An underhanded gypsy prying ladies legs from hibernation only to change temperature without a moments notice, layers lost and found. From boots to open toes, if you ask me, Spring is a time of confusion.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

In Spring, we drink gin, a light spirit with a very dark shadow. Like a beautiful woman wearing shades and a trench coat… Holding a pistol… You never know if the sun will shine, or if it will rain. It may not be “April in Paris”, but at least “I’ve got the month of May”.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

And then of course, there’s Spring cleaning: a kind a universal, environmental baptism, cleansing the cobwebs of the cold, blowing dust bunnies out of sleepy sty-lids. When your cool-weather cave-mate starts to look wilted compared to the endless sidewalks of tentative romance. Commence emotional breakdown, for the sweltering brothel of July is near.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Don’t even get me started on “Spring Break” AKA Santa Con migrates South for a Panama City rape fest. Probably the one tsunami that wouldn’t break too many hearts, unless, of course, you’ve got a thing for cro-magnon courtship practices and roofie-flavored margaritas.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

When you laugh, the world laughs with you… Well, Spring weeps regardless, and so do its children into semi-full glasses of Pinot Grigio. We just want winter to be over already, but still can’t wait for the beach. So where the hell are we? Spring is purgatory.

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

So the next time you see one of those beautiful pictures of the cherry blossoms in Kyoto at dawn, remember this: The last time you saw roses was on Valentine’s Day, piled high in the corner trash can, and that cactus on your window sill has been dead for a month already. Buon Viaggio! (RIP Phillipe)

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Photo © Muge Karamanci

Comments are closed.