change

The season of blossoming trees is almost over

and petals rain down pink onto the green.

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.