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.