There comes a point in May when it seems Spring isn't quite able to sustain itself. The thick purple and white blossoms, which only a week ago exploded in a brilliance there are no words for, have begun to fade and slip from the trees, replaced by leaves, curled up like new butterfly wings and too delicate to offer shade or shelter. Duncan and I stood at The Mound today, the slight hill, crowned with chokecherry trees, elm and pine, and watched the wind pull the bright blossoms from the branches and scatter them in the air around us where they hovered and finally rained earthward, spinning and turning softly as they fell at our feet. The grass, still new and thickening, is being carpeted over by purple and white, and specks of gold where the dandelions peek through. The sky clouded over and fine mist like rain fell, igniting such rich smells that I could only stand, eyes closed breathing the rich Spring fragrance while the petals alighted on my cheeks and Duncan's back.
If only such moments could be repeated and our world was one where trees continually flowered and rained blossoms about us. I suppose it's the impermanence of Spring that makes it so joyful. Tomorrow we may not walk under a canopy of colors but a magnificent carpet will have been laid out for us, fresh and redolent. And that will a bliss just as kind as today's.
There comes a point in May when it seems Spring isn't quite able to sustain itself. The thick purple and white blossoms, which only a week ago exploded in a brilliance there are no words for, have begun to fade and slip from the trees, replaced by leaves, curled up like new butterfly wings and too delicate to offer shade or shelter. Duncan and I stood at The Mound today, the slight hill, crowned with chokecherry trees, elm and pine, and watched the wind pull the bright blossoms from the branches and scatter them in the air around us where they hovered and finally rained earthward, spinning and turning softly as they fell at our feet. The grass, still new and thickening, is being carpeted over by purple and white, and specks of gold where the dandelions peek through. The sky clouded over and fine mist like rain fell, igniting such rich smells that I could only stand, eyes closed breathing the rich Spring fragrance while the petals alighted on my cheeks and Duncan's back. 
If only such moments could be repeated and our world was one where trees continually flowered and rained blossoms about us. I suppose it's the impermanence of Spring that makes it so joyful. Tomorrow we may not walk under a canopy of colors but a magnificent carpet will have been laid out for us, fresh and redolent. And that will a bliss just as kind as today's.
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