A blossom is a promise that there is color in the world after the cold grey and stark white of winter. We have meandered into springtime and the stark colors of winter, the whites, grays, browns and blacks are the background for what is to come. The blossoms are the promises that with spring there will be more color to add to our imagination, more possibilities to consider and even a bit more light to brighten up our days and shorten our nights. With blossoms come the scents of newness and life just beginning, the smell of fresh grass and the light fragrant scent of rain upon the earth. So much is contained in such a small bud of ideas, so much has been locked away for all winter cultivating the moment when it should push forth and be counted among the new leaves. I see the promise in the blossoms as I see the promise in the season. I am new or I am a new version of the old or I am a revised version of the old me shaken perhaps or stirred from the cold and stark colors of winter. I have shed my old dreary colors and placed upon my shoulders this mantel of new blossoms as a reminder of the wonder of all things new and colorful. The world is once more a spectrum of colors that illuminate every waking hour and as the days grow they take us into the darkness of night slipping into our dreams and refreshing our desire for the warmth of summer yet to be and the culmination of colors that will be autumn. Right now let us read Joyce in the shade of a freshly blossomed tree and scatter the petals as they fall as far and as wide in our imagination as time allows us.
The time has passed swiftly. The quarter moon of reflection I have made eased the mind from one temperament to another. The sun set on one aspect of my life only to rise on another, though the way it happened was not ideal nor wished for. Each day unfolds now in a new light that I was unaware of for a very long time. We are often shrouded by the colors of another when we allow them into our lives. This willingness to accept what another projects is a risk that I have taken time and time again, yet each time it has not proved to be easy. My choices are not singular or vastly complicated. My choices are simplistic in nature for it is my nature to see things as simple alternatives. I ease my way down this choice that was of a consequence of my previous decisions. Awareness will come I am told in time and with awareness a calming of the storms that are prevalent in my heart. There is no desire in me for the past road nor for the past in many senses I have done what I set out to do. My way is a cleared image of the tide coming in ready to sweep me away on another adventure in another place with another tide. Am I so lost that I can never find my way? What twisted the threads so barren that they became weeds and felled the very tree we sought to keep alive? The emotions of humanity that destroy all things anger, fear and jealousy are what twisted the threads. I am guilty of swinging the axe as anyone who has every lost their temper or failed to see with their heart the truth to what another professes. The way is safe and confined and I am best in such places hidden in the shadows waiting for the tide to come. I am somewhat of a lost soul that is a true statement of where I am and what I am about. I have lost my way many a time and been carried off with the raging tides or currents to land upon a soft moss filled bank weary and exhausted from the turbulent times. I sleep less and less and while I enjoy more and more the cost is simple and the hours complex. I find joy in a smile that fills my every pore and I listen more intently now than ever I did before or since. What now for the lost and weary traveler go? Onward to tomorrow and straight on till the tide finally ends the land and begins the sea.