If you’ve never been thrilled to the very edges of your soul by a flower in spring bloom, maybe your soul has never been in bloom.

Terri Guillemets

Every spring for a week, maybe ten days at the most, in the early morning, my bedroom is bathed in a luminous pink light. It’s as if the sun shoots intense rose-colored rays direct to me.

The source is a large crab apple tree in the green space behind my house. This tree has some years on it, and the branches are full and round, like a child’s drawing of a tree.

Most of the year, it is fairly unremarkable, but in spring, this tree is devastatingly beautiful. It is crammed with tiny pink blossoms – so many it seems there is hardly enough room on each limb for them. When the morning light glances off these blooms, they shine into my bedroom like a lighthouse leading me from the fog of winter safely toward spring.

Some years I try to strike a bargain with Mother Nature.

“Why can’t I have this pink glow all the time?”

I am so starved for green and growing things by the end of winter. And the spring flowers are with us for so short a time.

What would it be like to have tulips and daffodils blooming year round?

Lilacs forever.

Apple blossoms in December.

My greedy head thinks it would be wonderful. My much wiser heart knows it simply cannot be. That’s one of the many lessons nature provides. Everything has its own season.

“Appreciate what you have when you have it,” Mother Nature says. “Then move on. Make room for the next thing to bloom in your world, in your heart.”

When I look around, I know this to be true.

As the fruit blossoms fade, the lilacs open. And by the time the lilacs turn gray, the peonies are about to bloom and the summer flowers are well on their way.

There is always something to thrill you, that is if you’re open to being thrilled.