The Pinkness Midst


In the midst of spring is when I find it hardest to believe spring will ever come again.  I want to shout, “Wait, wait for me!” to every rose or cream or blistering fuschia branch that whizzes by me as I sit, stationary in my car, waiting to arrive wherever.  My heart does not feel big enough to receive, never mind contain, the life radiating towards Something no more or less wonderful than its Self.  Maybe I am radiating, too, in sympathy with the coded message ciphered by the leaves and petals and twigs and stems.  “Come with us,”  they whisper.  “We are going your way.”

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3 thoughts on “The Pinkness Midst

  1. REALLY gorgeous photos – I think I know what you mean – spring is still tentative – not as bold as summer…a friend made me a very special green tea yesterday (leaves from Korea) and she told me it wouldn’t be like any other green tea – and it wasn’t — it was subtle and delicate — barely there and full of all that is good. Like that, right?

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