Dark rough texture, no leaves. The cherry tree in winter is bare, a desolate vision. I can easily wish it to be in full bloom, all its potential expressed. Instead, I give it full respect for listening to the seasons, for its ability to be dormant. The stillness invites me to prepare for the promise of all that is not yet visible. Moments when time stops, thought is shifted, feelings are reveled, often arrive when we are bare and rough.
I remember the look as my friend spoke to every cell in my body “You make it so difficult to just say thank you.” Part of me began to melt with her compassion.
I can still feel the deep sign of relief from ancestors, long dead, exhaling with me as I clearly said “no”.
Yet again reprimanded for his actions I sat with a young boy. Just sitting, not talking, ignoring, or expecting anything in return. He was the one who choose his words, “I’m sorry”.
Pouring a cup of warm water into the frozen ground will not result in the cherry tree blooming the next day. Honor the seasons of your feelings. Allow the shout “yes” to rise in you like a child’s laughter.
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