Once again, it pays to look down.

Seen in passing …

The invisible made visible, thanks to a passel of cherry blossom petals.

As I walked through my neighborhood this morning, I saw those pink petals playing ring-around-the-rosie in the street. Their game lasted just a few breezy seconds before they all fell down.

The wind doesn't just blow, it swirls.

Pretty in pink

---

As a writer and editor, I strive for accuracy. After I wrote this post, I questioned whether the petals I saw were from a cherry or a crab apple tree (to my eyes they're similar).

I headed out and found the tree in question. Feeling bold, I rang the doorbell of the house where the tree lives. When one of the owners answered the door, I introduced myself, and explained my quest. 

She happily replied that indeed, the tree is a weeping cherry. We chatted for a bit, and she encouraged me to come back when the wisteria is in bloom around their porch.

I could have used the internet to answer my question, but it was so much nicer to meet a fellow human.

Those myriad fine lines will soon be filled with leaves.

Spring is all about potential.

The natural world is fairly bursting with possibilities … for growth, blooming, blossoming change. Winter browns are making room for greens, yellows, pinks and purples. The returning colors warm my heart.

Last week I made a point of giving myself the gift of time outside. I walked to work twice (about 40 minutes each way), and hiked into the woods above our house one afternoon, just to soak it all in. Call it natural therapy.

Brown will soon give way to green.

On my Tuesday walk, which took me through a swath of woods, I looked up and noticed that the trees were still leafless, though tiny buds told me that wouldn't last long. As much as I love leaves, I also have a fondness for the silhouettes of trees in winter. I lingered at the sight of those bare branches reaching up and across the sky.

The next day I explored another patch of woods. I looked up again, this time armed with my camera, and saw so much more than bare branches. An astonishing network of thready, delicate stems arced overhead, each one home to a future leaf, a canopy nothing short of colossal.

Saturday's walk came after the rain, offering me puddles mirroring the world above. I took my time -- and lots of pictures. 

I also turned down the worries noising around in my head and tuned into the song that is spring. Birds peeped, chirped, and sometimes squawked. The sun beamed warmth, while a gentle breeze cooled my face.

        I breathed deep, and gave thanks.

The sky below my feet

An oval puddle painting