![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6Eh44B8SXMZxBWUSUe0rd3uxwKh0obSNNd0A2m6v1rlOyYRc1X406yHXu-nQFi5sCY8HXQyTudATALt7luFZUpfzml6j78yJh7Qm5EqKTmrw8MVtlfyYLF5_NCOxxIVYx-IgKrkDKwTE/s400/DSC05632boots.jpg)
The season of blossoming trees is almost over
and petals rain down pink onto the green.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XprptcX5X0bY6ZfTg4JpTo_wMbsBSHjYuPRP_OvKbBQ-4zLe84ojd5OwZu3dOcZmMJsBXGvHyu9S2DG7IFlKja1LfkMd-8CxJns2kxbI53NmoZdUFwQhChGIktdYWvxIUwRWZ4nGsdW2/s400/DSC05628boots.jpg)
Change, relentless change. Beauty passes. Petals fall. But if all bloomed at the same time would the garden be as splendid?
We change, we age, we get sick, we die. I just can't dwell on that. How can I possibly understand how I will feel if mom succumbs to her illness? I push it from my mind.
Hope, I hang on to hope.
Blossoms dropping one by one.
There is a place where all will bloom, splendidly, simultaneously, eternally.