An April Snow

Its snowed last night, there's more on the way.
The stark white frosting preemptively strikes against the onslaught of radiant pink flowers on the weeping cherry at the corner of the yard.
Each locked in a battle for attention.

Spring wants to bloom but like any renaissance we see fits and starts
Every brilliant bronze sculpture worked by the hand of God through Ghiberti is met by the regressive preaching of Savonarola, who unknowing, will be burned at the stake yet again to carve a path for progress.  

Yet we know the renaissance will come 
as every blade of manicured grass recalls the radiance and precision of Donatello's Penitent Magdalene. 
We can strain to see Michaelangelo's majestic Deposition in the snow capped mountains that surround our high desert valley.

More, we will feel the rebirth within, crawling from it's winter slumber within the ileocecal valve at the deepest cavern of bowel where it lay dormant for too long. 
It beckons us outward and forward toward rediscovering each other and our truest selves. 

Push through spring! I am counting on you this year more than ever, rid us of the dark seed winter has planted and carry us to the burnt orange warmth of your reckless sunshine.