Spring is approaching, slowly, steadily. A new year of seasons brings on a host of memories for me. This time in the budding of a cherry tree. In 2005, I was able to go to Washington DC’s cherry blossom festival while my friend Shelby lived there. It was a gorgeous time in my life. And that year, that moment was significant of so much change in me. All of the lacy pink, which seems against my normal fancy, and the blue skies and the white of Washington, contrasted with the dark, dark bark of the tree itself; for me it was a portent of life to be. Shortly afterwards I was awarded the job as a librarian here. The world of remove opened up. Security in isolation, thoughts allowed their freedom, only my actions to worry about.
And now, here still, in a slightly different role.
Naturally, the tree behind my bedroom turns out to be a cherry tree. It keeps trying to tell me something. Every petal a new message. The green, gray, white, bark, pink of here is saying “things will not always be”. It seems to be an ominous message at first reading, but probably because it’s unknown. If I find out what the world is saying or what the nature of this tale is, I’ll let you know.