I wake at dawn easing
into my robe and slippers.
I slip outside heeding the call
of her ineffable beauty. This morning miraculous
in full blossom when just a week ago
her tiny, tight dark buds hid behind
just opening purple leaves.
Now no wind, though
grey clouds allude to rain.
Quietly padding on the dew-damp grass, I know
this delicate moment will too soon float away.
Like her ephemeral pink petals.
Like my life.
Contemplating the cherry tree,
how do I open to her simple gift of living
with time the only given?
Starting out in the same old way,
moments slow to minutes.
Moving in close, I touch her flower-heavy limbs,
and am enveloped in her faint perfume.
Raindrops bring a subtle shift in perception.
An elusive presence sensing
as we,
cherry tree and me,
are love.
it’s been said we look to trees to mirror us back to ourselves.