Blossom is the delicate spring making its presence known on roadsides and amid clusters of still-brown trees. Tender white flowers opening and turning their faces toward the warm sun to ward off the remaining nighttime chill. Sturdy yellow double-faced flowers on slender green stalks cluster together, casting dashes of color in long-forgotten growing places. 

A few weeks later the wind blows warm “snow” with each breeze. Petals swirling and landing on greening grass, cracking sidewalks, and freeze-thaw mud. Gliding down, down, down to touch the newest waves of purples, pinks, reds, and yellows. Pillowing cozy chicks in their warm nests. Teasing fish on the surfaces of ponds, rivers, and lakes. Dancing on roadways as tires provide dizzying wind-music.

It’s watching my children grow and learn. Smiling at the tiniest moments that don’t cause shockwaves to ripple throughout the world but do cause pride to swell in my chest. Smiling. Giggling. Rolling over. Crawling. Walking. Later watching them learn to tie their shoes and read their first book. Later still watching them learn to bake and sew, to help Daddy with the farm chores. To make friends and write papers. Personal successes that, one bloom at a time, help them blossom into healthy young adults and, hopefully, successful, caring, conscientious grown-ups. 


(I took the above photo at Cades Cove. Not sure what kind of bush it was, but it sure is pretty!)


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