Like the birth of a child, spring can feel like the beginning of everything, but also an end in itself. Looking at a fresh green bud or a blossom opening in the sun, we forget those winter months when nothing appeared to be happening on the surface, long, quiet months when something grew in darkness. Spring is dramatic, full of fanfare, seeming to appear magically like a newborn child. Change happens quickly, and each step is a miracle. For the first time since the leaves fell, we don’t think about what comes next.
Then the blossoms start to fall. We want to stop them, to freeze the moments of beauty, but this is just the beginning. We have to let them go for what comes next, even another winter.

I think I only recognized my mother when I became one myself.

Petals drop like snow —
if we want to…