When the wind blows cold again and this tree begins to lose its bloom; weeping petals like tears. I remember that snow comes in spring. Spring does not mean the absence of snow, any more than summer the absence of rain, autumn the absence of flowers or winter that of warm sunny days.... the seasons mix in their expressions; exalt and mourn simultaneously. I am reminded of our brother’s death every year when this tree begins to loose its crown of blossoms. I am reminded how sudden shocking cold just when you think you are clear of its apparent danger. I am also reminded of the fullness of the tree that will come after its loss. After it has shed what was no longer needed. I am reminded by the Easter-bells that are so decisively finished and my mother’s favorite hearts that begin bleeding in the garden. I walk over this carpet of pink and feel the glory and the sorrow of it without clashing give softly under foot. Grief and glory likewise giving way in season.