Plum Blossom Lessons

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I walked to James’s house yesterday and picked up some glasses left behind by a friend at his Celebration of Life. How many times have I walked the length of this block? In winter boots, spring sandals, barefoot in summer. Wearing my apron on Sundays after cooking him dinner, jogging back to catch the start of a movie with my family at home. Returning with his chocolate cake or zucchini bread. As I write this, tears fall.

That’s a good sign. I walked home yesterday in the rain, stooped and contracted, drawing myself in and away from the grey drizzle. Yet, somehow I did not miss the first plum blossoms, bravely tipping their crinkled petals up to catch the rain.

This is the lesson, isn’t it? The plum blossoms took a chance on love, on beauty, on co-creation. They opened up to the sun, to the bees, to the wonder of passers by. Then, in the rain, they held steady. Through the frost, they did not waver. I stood beneath the plum tree, receiving her lesson.

When it comes time to bloom, we open our hearts. We love. The rain falls, the frost comes, we hurt. We make our way through the year, one small year in the whole of our lives, a year that shapes us. And then, the next spring, that warm week arrives when we cannot help but bud again.

The plum blossoms showed no sign of shrinking from the rain yesterday, so I stood a little taller. I threw back my hood, felt the cool heavy mist on my face, and stepped ahead freely.

Writing this, my eyes are wet again. I love. I keep loving. And with gentle reminders from our Mother Earth, I do not shrink from the rain.

When have you been reminded to open your heart by a more-than-human being around you?