Waiting in the family room to go out this morning, while upstairs my wife made ready to join me, I sat reading a book a friend had sent. Some fluttering movement just outside my direct vision caught my attention and I glanced over to the window to see what might be happening.
Dawn had come only an hour or so before and bright light from the recently risen sun beamed down the street from just above the tall pines at the end of the road. I say beamed. It did not fall upon us, or shower us from above. No, the sun, returned after three days gone behind dark thick rain clouds, shone with the force of fanfare for the new day. The street looked leaved with gold, and all the shadows carved, stark against the shiny brilliances of new minted colors, greens of an astounding vibrancy on the still wet grass, the mottled brown to black of solid trees, the tender gold of new leaves just unfolding and all the other shades of yellow that made me think that was the color of creation .
Right before my eyes, however, the most brilliant of all was hung; a curtain, a cascade of sugary pink cherry blossoms lit from behind by the power of sunlight hurtling by the weeping cherry just outside. No bride’s lace could have been more delicate, no curtain of falling water more fine and sparkling, no new cloud alone in the sky more alive with light. A soft breeze whispered through the trailing ropes of light as I watched small birds dash out to the feeder just in front of our window, take a seed and then das back behind the blossoms.
I sat, my books forgotten, for several minutes as the little chickadees, house finches and titmice enjoyed their meal.
Just before my wife appeared and we had to leave a lovely thing happened. One of the several male cardinals who live in the neighborhood came to perch inside the branches of the tree, near the very top. His bright scarlet breast caught the sun and glowed against the almost white pinkness of the blossoms. He lifted his head and sang a tune to the day then leaped into the air leaving me nearly breathless at the easy beauty of the thing.