I really enjoy the time of year when blossom covers the trees and transforms the dull brown branches into a picturesque pastoral scene.

The first to arrive are usually the fruit trees up by the barn,

delicate, white, wild plum,


and peach,

that last about a week


before the new buds start to leaf and hopefully the frost is over.

Along the lane the beautiful pink blossom faithfully blooms on the tree whose name I don’t know.  The tiny flowers emerge tentatively against the crisp, blue sky’d morn,


and as the days pass shouts to a cloudy afternoon sky,

‘Spring is here at last!’


The nameless tree never ceases to make my heart skip a beat when I catch sight of it while walking.

Its blossom lasts the longest,

lingering among the fresh green,


and catching me by surprise by blooming along the trunk and branches!


The white Robinia trees running along the fence line of the horse farm fill the air with their fragrance,

at once delicate and heavily pungent.


Beauty everywhere that makes me wonder how the first people felt during the winter months when everything looked well and truly dead…would they ever see green again from the dead wood of winter?

I await its coming with a confidence they may not have had…

and am lifted up by the freshness of a brightly shimmering tree, almost appearing overnight.


Cows grazing casually beneath its branches, unaware of the miracle happening above them that reminds me of new-beginnings and the glory of an Easter morning.

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