Flowers

The trees are coming into bud. Tiny white flecks, tinged with pink that disappears the harder I look for it.

My sign that Spring is here. That winter is over.

For some reason, I think of these as Adam’s flowers. I don’t know why – perhaps it’s the time of year?  Perhaps it’s their fragility? Each one perfect in a way that I cannot pin down.

Perhaps it has more to do with their persistence. Buffeted by storms, nipped by frost. And yet somehow, enduring. Always with me.

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