There is a saying on campus that goes “If a jacaranda flower falls on you before you’ve studied for finals, you’ll fail.” Or something like that. I wasn’t actually paying attention.
The jacaranda trees began to bloom in late September. By then, I was trudging through the deep over-it-ness of late second semester. This term has been a mixed-bag, and half of my courses were… uninspired. However, I met and made connections with some amazing people in/through our department. This was a season of learning more about myself, my place in this cohort, and where the future might lead.
Jacarandas are not native to Australia. Rather, they were brought here from South America. They thrive in this environment- low chance of frost, plenty of water and sunlight- and signal the end of magpie season (where the wretched birds attack unprovoked) and the rapid change from Winter to Summer. The city has planted them along streets and in parks everywhere.
The blooms are a vibrant violet, starting out as more mauve and moving over the weeks into a richer bluish tone that hums with neon-like energy. The scent is light- an airier cousin to wisteria or honeysuckle- with another, almost vanilla, undertone. As quickly as they open, the flowers fall to the ground and are replaced with many more. By early November, lawns and pathways are carpeted- light bouncing off the purple to seemingly tint the very air.
Herbalists and aromatherapy practitioners claim that jacaranda can act as a divining rod for those who dither, or are prone to changing their paths or their minds. They say it helps hone centeredness, and decisiveness. I don’t know that I believe this, but it certainly is pretty, smells good, and comes at a moment in my time here in Australia where I am starting to consider what might come next.
Despite a brief dance with homesickness (discussed in the upcoming “Halloween Schmalloween” post), I am back to resisting return to the place we came here from. I love my people there, but it is not my place- it never has been. I don’t know that this is my place either, but I don’t need to decide now. I can enjoy the “purple snow” (as O calls it) of the jacaranda trees and pretend that they are helping move me toward something sure.