Last year in Warsaw I fell in love. With many things really. It was after all spring, and in the northern hemisphere that means something splendid. But my true love was the horse chestnut. This year I arrived earlier and I fell in love promiscuously: with crabapples, sycamores, silver birches, willows, box elder – and of course stayed in love with twins. But now my old love has returned in all its glory.
It stands grand and domed in rows along streets; amongst the deep green of parks; on the approach to Polin; and in the preschool playground. I can’t avoid it even if I wanted to.
I am conflicted. Who is my primary plant love?
And then, suddenly, the flowers are falling and the love affair fades.