Twenty years ago a thoughtful cousin gave us a sapling cherry tree as a shower present to mark the arrival of our daughter. Three days ago it wasn’t in bloom and now it is, full of airy white blossoms, astonishing, like a baby discovering her fingers.
Twenty years ago – my daughter. Three days ago – the cherry tree. I was watching. I witnessed the unfurling. And yet every year I am surprised when the cherry tree blooms, defies the past bitter winter, when it gives testimony to beauty, bounty, and fruition in a sudden spring exaltation.
In a few weeks our 20 year old is taking her first solo holiday – a backpack, a fearless heart, and The Diary of Anne Frank as her luggage – and soon she will be lifting her chin, her eyes, and her mind to new places, new smells, new people. Naturally, I am…
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