Verdant bough was past its height and peak of hue and bloom. Edges of its tender petals curled in wilt and first of yellow-show even as heart and broad of the fine white-pink held open, delicate, and bright.
She looked upon the sight, appreciating the beauty that remained. The beauty was never made to last. That was why it meant so much, had such effect: value was in the evanescence, knowing it would, and loving the more for time that it is there.
She thought of the blossoms in morning light, touched in the fall of sun. She thought of seasons. She thought of life, what of both wilt, die, and change; and too, how from one beauty’s dying, others are given life.
This, too, was part of God’s and nature’s way.
In the pink-white blossoms, her mind carried off to years and springs in past. She thought of a swing in canyon oak where scent of the ocean blew from west on wind onto dry and arid foothills, a song in head that rocked her in sky, like heaven-cradle, to rhythm and the melody.
“Slow down you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile.
But then if you’re so smart tell me why are you still afraid?”
It was years ago. Twice, after, she returned, but the moment was different—as all experiences and seasons are—and she never felt so held and cradled and soothed by sky and heaven in the place as she had in moment and day.
“Where’s the fire? What’s the hurry about. You’d better cool it off before you burn it out.
You’ve got so much to do and only so many hours in a day…”
It was a life-stage, impatience of ambition and wanting to know and live one’s purpose; but it doesn’t happen like that, and rather than straight lines, life and time are often wanderings.
And so she went—about the world—escapes and adventures and searchings when she carved such for her life.
Sometimes, she found what she was searching for. Others, she found something different; and others still, she simply experienced—still searching—and living gratitude for the wanderings, witnessings, and discoveries.
Song returned to life in mind, replaying of pasts and memories of life embraced and not hurried or determined through, a life in grace to be uncertain allowing chance and presence, not forced determination, to teach and reveal her beauties and purpose: blossoming in time.
She liked to think she had, and blossomed still, in new and changing ways to seasons and weather of life.
She looked on the Verdant blooms right then, yellow tinge of curl in wane of youth’s full vibrance. It was beautiful still, even in its aging, and she would not forget the pleasure and simple joy it brought when present in its youthful bloom.
She thought to a wandering in spring before, retracing of a river against its current, rising from the deep and broad and wide to its narrowing origin source. She thought of cities, towns, and countrysides along the way: churches, castles, mansions—ornate—and the placid places where nature lived in bloom.
She thought of parkways, broad and straight, lined in the pink-white blossoms as far as she could see; bees on the leaves in life and tend to the pollen and nectar—sweetness of living spring.
She smiled in remembrance, song still playing in her mind; how she had questioned if she had the time, and the assurance of the words.
“Slow down, you crazy child and take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while.
You can afford to lose a day or two. When will you realize…Vienna waits for you?”
It was true. She’d lived and seen it all: manifested of a dream in swing and cradle of the sky—years before, without her knowing—waiting in time to bloom.
She lived and was present to it all. She dreamed her favorite pieces again looking on the pink-white blossoms past their height and peak.
Seasons changed. Blossoms died; but beauty and enchantment were eternal—saved in the private mind. She loved and was grateful for it all.
Cloud shifted in the sky. Light shone greater on the blossom petals drawing white more vibrant from pink-shade hue in effect of mood and tone and depth of light.
No moment was the same.
She smiled, warmed and changed as well in strengthen of the sun before softened once again in new cover of a cloud.
She sang the song in mind again, it drawing sound in humming through her lips; soundtrack to life-moment and time of becoming in between.
She left the room with love, in living moment of her bloom. All the song lived true. She felt its call and soothe again.
“When will you realize, Vienna waits for you…”
