Tessa slept late in the fullness of day before, and when she woke, life greeted through open window frame. Through the window, cool, scent, and light of spring flowed filling room with waking spirit told in sounds of birds on branch and blossom of boughs beyond. Immersed, Tessa rose and stood before the open frame touched in spring’s gold light.
She smiled in the light, listening to spring’s songs and breathing full its soft fragrance. She smiled too in a consciousness formed as she looked down to dresser beside her and a way, it seemed, world sometimes spoke in signs.
A story was on her mind, and from the story, a self-shaped thought; and to the thought—it seemed—world appeared with affirmations. She fixed in study to a floral arrangement in rest on dresser’s face: white flowers—lily of the valleys cut as bough of vertical bloom and larger roses, distinct and arranged as individual flowers. For the white and stems of green, pale headed grasses gave accent. She smiled in note of the flowers and grass heads, their compliment to dresser’s color, also white, before wall of the same decorated in photographs and frames, each black and white.
Her mind made note of the repetition—perception of symbol— as she, herself, held lightly covered in gown of satin white. In touch of spring through window—contrast of cool in air and warmth in light—her body answered like spring’s buds risen upon bough.
Tessa enlivened in the energy of spring.
Maybe it was all imagined, capriciousness of chance; natural color and sign to changing season; or maybe there was more: a Creator, or another’s purposeful mind, speaking back. Whether true or only imagined, there is power in believing one is seen.
She contemplated, leaving thought as wonder without forcing to an answer. Wonder was enough. Why kill the mystery, and a magic, that ends when settled fate is known?
Through the window, new season and world signed, each in living white, and she as stood as centerpiece in frame.
Owning place, wind stirred and swept at open bottom of her gown, raising gentle up over high of thighs, sending soft sensing throughout skin. In the wind, fall of hair caught and flared in faint whorl through golden light.
Spirit danced as too did petals by her side.
Maybe all was imagined. Then again—a part of her dreamed and believed—maybe Universe was more than an indifferent infinite. The Universe held spirit, and when one’s own was truly lived and, by miracle, discerned; affected, perhaps Universe responds, speaking in sign and subtle wonders—all around—like blossoms on the bough.