Song of the cherry blossom

On a neighbourhood ride yesterday  morning on Sophie  (my power wheelchair) I came upon an early blooming choke cherry tree with stunning, ethereal blossoms.

One of the best things about being an amateur,  bumbling  artist is stumbling across the true beauty and immensity of design in art created by a True Master Artist.   The Master's  art doesn't just delight- it story tells. It spirit touches.

I can say nothing less about these blossoms,  simple as they may be.  In the true gift of the beauty in the ordinary, these blossoms breath perfumed  beauty into a world pain- wracked. For a moment too brief it is a right for an earth too often wronged.



It tells a story that if only we listen could take us down a path to the Artist Herself.

Who is this Artist?  Some may him God, others call her Spirit.  To some the Artist is Life itself, while others see not a being but process.

 Whatever the name, the art speaks for itself.  My own mortal spirit can do nothing but pause before it, wonder -bowed. My soul shouts: Hosanna!  Echoing the song bursting forth from blossom to Artist- Creator.