milk

cotton balls that are creamy, creamy yellow-white

against the blue sky.

sitting there, just being under their branches, their reaching out flowering blessing hovering over your head, and purfuming the air, and letting little snowflakes drop when you or the wind shakes them, and getting them all over like in a wedding rice-throwing happy-birthday rebirth in springtime, you are the bride/groom and this is your happy day.

spending time under them feels vitally important. for in the spring, time reminds me of its presence in this visceral way. i can see it passing so clearly, that it reminds me how divine the moment is, how urgent it is, not to waste this precious moment, and so not to feel the ache of feeling like my time, days, are scurrying by like little rats in the dark, sad, hungry, and dank, because they are only filled with my little tensions, my frenetic distractions, and my hiding away from feeling and growing.

the spring is such a teacher. if i skip a day, or three, or five, and put it off, the flowers are passed. the tree next to it is perhaps already on to sprouting its leaves. so you learn to respond, to say yes, and yes! to say yes to yourself. to say yes to joy. to learn to make room for it. you cannot hesitate, you have to make it a priority, this beauty, to receive it, this most intense, most elaborate, most obvious of displays of love. and make time to tend it, to tend to your silent soul need.

it's your soul that tells you what it needs, what it is hungry to be suckled on, what gives it its strength and its delicious nourishment like mother's milk. like the white mother's milk creamy yellow of white sprinkling blossoms i shake on their branches and exhult at as they fall all over me as i rush back to the grass to sprawl out and watch them sprinkle, trickle down, onto me, and even into my open, laughingly excited mouth.

flowering trees, simply one of the most divine things i know.