Though I long for Spring, it always catches me off guard--as if I didn't know it would come or that it would be like this.
They are hard to photograph since the tiniest breeze flutters their petals. Here is a "pink" called Comanche Red.
But the prettiest ones, the ones that make older neighborhoods look like the yards have been decorated with lace, are the whites.
It is the nature of things that they will be gone soon.
This fragile moment makes me think of fairies, and elves and mysterious worlds where creatures dance on air and dine on enchantment.
Instead of writing, I gaze out the window enraptured, bemused by beauty.
This fragile moment I offer you.
Are you sensitive to a season? Is there a time of year that feeds your soul?