behind the tears

behind the tears
Originally uploaded by rod lewis

Ya know how when you look at a wonderful photograph on flickr, and your heart composes poetry, or sings a song, or ponders existential conundrums? Isn’t it fascinating when more than your eyes are touched by a photograph?
That’s how Spring is for me.
Ya know how when you take a familiar lengthy trip and measure distance traveled and distance to go by familiar landmarks along the way? It may be towns, silos, potty breaks, but we tend measure our journey by pre-arrivals rather than time or distance. That’s how spring is for me.
One travels through February dreading the last few cold nights. Along the side of the road a robin is spotted. - the first landmark. A bit further, a daffodil, then the Bradford Pears, the azaleas, the dogwoods, until eventually, the greatest moment of all – Wisteria’s dripping purple tears.
The paradox of spring centers on new birth and blossoming life. But no birth comes without pain, not even a re-birth, perhaps especially not a re-birth. Great pangs are endured before the dormancy of winter is overcome and the first buds are put forth. Death has been endured, and being reborn requires great fortitude and pain.
Wisteria paints this picture for me, and on the day that I spot the first purple tear, I inevitably shed a tear myself. It is so much more than beautiful. I could never presume that my blessings were without cost.
Purple blessings in falling tears.