Our spring snow crab apple tree bloomed today. The aroma is exquisite, its flowers lacey and delicate. We have all taken turns standing underneath its branches, breathing in deeply, taking in the tranquility and elegance.
Oliver has entered a new season today too; it was his last day of school. His first last day of school. After waking him up this morning, I picked him up and carried him in my arms downstairs for breakfast. He was indeed sleepy and appreciated not having to put one foot in front of the other, but it was really for me. It's milestones like this that make me want to scoop him up and hold him not unlike a baby, my baby boy. As he grows, he's not asking for as many hugs, not wanting to snuggle quite as much, not lingering in my arms for very long at night. So I hold onto him as much as I can.
That tree in our front yard will grace us with no more than a week of loveliness, and then it moves on, needing to grow and change. You will find me under its branches, trying to take it all in, holding on, begging for this part of the process to stay, just for a little while longer. And just like last year, it won't; it will just keep growing, leaving me to grieve, and celebrate, the change.
You, my dear, you are poetry.
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