The first time I went to town after our son died I was aware that the world was still turning as normal while my life had been changed irrevocably.
About half way to town I passed a grove of flowering cherry trees, their pink blossom standing out against the clear, blue sky.
Part of me was confounded by this exuberant show of new life while I was so consumed by a death. But a small part of my mind also registered that this was a sign that spring always follows winter.
I remember that each I drive past those trees, which is usually several times each week, and none more so than at this time of year when they are again in full bloom.
Today I’m grateful for nature’s message that life goes on and that after winter there will be spring.