On the jasmine, as promised

It opened overnight, all of it, as though the whole vine had agreed on the hour beforehand.

That is the thing about jasmine: it does not open one flower at a time and wait to see how the first one is received. It commits. And it does this in the dark, when there is nobody at all to see it, and by the time you come down in the morning the decision is already made and the courtyard smells like a decision.

I have been trying to work out why this moves me, and I think it is this — the vine is not performing. The scent is not for me. I simply happen to live near something that was going to be beautiful anyway.

Most of the good things are like that. You do not earn the jasmine. You locate yourself near it and keep the door open.

Go and stand near something that would have happened without you.