Trees Didn't Get the Memo

The Trees Didn't Get the Memo Despite that-they still bloom every spring. Those little white flowers growing on the edge of the riverbank.

They don't care about the water quality before they bud.

They don't care that under them the river flows brown and lethargic and full of garbage.

They still bloom, the way they always do, the way they will next spring. That’s the thing that struck me when I pulled my bike over on the bridge. The trees are just unbelievably beautiful.

There’s no reason why if you just look at the top half of the photo-at the flowers on the tree, reflected in the river below-you couldn't be standing in a quiet spot somewhere beautiful in an early spring city. But the water shows another side.

A bit stagnant, barely flowing, collecting in stagnant pockets on the sides where the river curves.

Even from here you can smell what's in the water as you lean on the railing. This is one of Kathmandu’s other smaller rivers-the ones who don’t make the news like the Bagmati does, the ones who just trickle quietly through neighborhoods and past morning walkers, past schools and shops where the shop owners are just used to it.

They're just another backdrop now, something most people don't think too hard about. They bloom every year without complaint.

Persistent.

Unbothered.

Still being themselves, still doing what they're supposed to be doing. We stopped.