[blockquote source=”Yevgeny Zamyatin”]The lilac branches are bowed under the weight of the flowers: blooming is hard, and the most important thing is – to bloom.[/blockquote]

There’s a tree that blooms near my house each year; blossoms the size of saucer dishes, and a fragrance to capture even the most unsuspecting of hearts.

Each year I wait like a child at Christmas for that tree to bloom – and just for the very simple privilege of standing amongst it’s magnificent flourishes.

And, it doesn’t ever matter how big or how small – oh, my heavens, no. Because, each new bud in its final ‘breaking free’ – has the capacity to invoke the same sense of profound gratitude.

Gratitude for it’s long-awaited arrival.

My dears, are we not all blossoms of this wondrous earth…our magnificence born from this same patch of dirt?

And looking towards the sun each day, do our faces not warm to the same brilliant rays? Do we not cling desperately through the harshest storms, to shed these trappings of our human form?

And gently turning towards earth again, when this, our time, has reached its end.

When purpose becomes our legacy…and we, just a faded bloom against a patch of green.

And knowing that our sweetness clings, to the hearts of those who embrace our ‘spring.’