God and life in the blossom

There are surely few sights more heart-liftingly, gloriously, cheerfully lovely than spring blossom - particularly in sunshine, boughs triumphantly reaching up into a brilliant blue sky. Whether it's pink, white or yellow, I never tire of seeing it, especially in urban settings, spilling over walls or brightening grey stretches of road.

I pass this particular blossom on my drive into work most mornings: two large trees, side by side, giving the impression of one wide, riotous abundance of candy-floss froth; a huge, unparalleled burst of vivid, cheery, cherry blossom. The other day I was able to park nearby and take a few quick photos. From a distance, even of just a few feet, all was pink, pink, pink, pom-pom clusters waving gently in the breeze...

... But up close, I could see that the pinkness was all on the outside - inside, each blossom was creamy white, with only a soft blush of pale, pale rose. The disparity between distance and proximity is amazing, but it occurred to me that this is rather as it is with so much of life. It's only when we get up close to something or someone that we can see beyond the externals; see something of its truth and its reality - although the long view, with its different perspective, can be equally important. And just as the blossom's beauty is in no way diminished by the revelation of its creamy, non-pink interior, so it is with life, too: romanticism or ideals might be stripped away, but loveliness remains, often still breath-takingly so. God, who dwells in all people, places and things, is in both the bright and the pale, in the external and what lies deepest within.


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