Spring Blossoms

The branches are barren and cold. I remember the beauty of the blossoms, though. They were real. Last March, seemingly out of nowhere, small buds appeared on those barren branches and became beautiful, delicate blossoms. The shades of pink and white and mauve lulled me into complacency—I’ll take a picture tomorrow, I thought. I’ll sit outside tomorrow, when it’s a little bit warmer, and I’ll take a hundred pictures. And then suddenly the wind came, blowing my picture all to hell. It’s unfair. I put up with this messy tree all year, sweeping squished crabapples up off of the patio and dealing with soggy, slippery flowers trampled into the grass, all so I can enjoy a month of beauty. But this year the beauty only lasted a week, and I feel gypped. Do I trust those brittle branches now, to become grand again? Can I live with the ugly and barren for a season, in order to experience the splendor of spring? Or do I chop spring-hope down because I’m in the middle of winter?