Spring returned and, with its change, blossoms’ coloring of trees: white and pastel roses, yellows, and further delicate hues. In appearance of sign, petals and flowers spread in tender loveliness, he returned to a memory.
He wondered if she still dressed as spring, loose and flowing gowns in flower print, colors of life and spirit worn not on sleeve but as adornment of whole body that caught and danced in movements and the winds—fluttering, spreading, spinning wide, and holding tight to form—a loveliness of color and beholden spirit—purposeful passion, unspoken and unshown—save for the beckon of blossom in color spread signing out for notice, love, and life’s creation.
He wondered and resigned himself to acceptance that he would likely never know. Still, he wondered—a budded thought from memory whenever spring returned in full display to stir and wake world’s dormant winter-heart—returned, again, to season when she bloomed.