Another year, another batch of almond blossoms.
This happens every Spring, and some would be so inured to the occasion as to say "Yadda, yadda, yadda," which would be really a rude thing to say to such magnificence.
True that all of the blossoms have five petals, and most of them have a center that is pinkish; some are whiter and some are pinker than others in the petals themselves. But that doesn't make them Oh, sniff, it's that season again.
The play of light and shadow on a sunny day -- that differs every year; the branches grow, and who knows how many buds will open on a branch, and will they face into the sun, or away?
I walk through orchards, and look at the blossoms and am just blown away by their beauty, their individual tenderness. That one petal, near the right of center and below, with the shadows playing across it -- how can I not feel joy at the exquisite feast for my eyes, for the unique masterpiece of Life it portrays? I capture it on camera, and can call it to mind even when the winter is so dim and cold and achy that it seems that light and warmth and comfort will never come again.
That's why we should look at people's faces, too, you know. They have seasons, too. Their seasons aren't so regular, of course, but sometimes, if you're watching, they bloom, and the blossoming is so beautiful that you want to take them home with you and feed them lunch, memorize the loveliness and hold it in your heart forever.
The season of blossom is worthy of remembrance, because it is also a symbol of hope.