Walking down a street lined on both sides by trees that all winter were like skeleton arms reaching for the sky. Today on the the skeleton arms were, bumps, mounds, there were so many buds on the branches it looked like a full sports stadium. The bumps, buds seemed to make the branches happy, there was definitely no urge to scratch. There seemed to be more birds as well. Today’s deposit in the ‘Joy Jar’ are the buds that have formed on tree branches.
“Thought is the blossom; language the bud; action the fruit behind it”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us; there have been many circulation of the sap before we detect the smallest sign of the bud.”
George Eliot
“Nip the shoots of arbitrary power in the bud, is the only maxim which can ever preserve the liberties of any people.”
John Quincy Adams
“The bud may have a bitter taste, / But sweet will be the flower.”
William Cowper
“Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the wise trees stand sleeping in the cold.”
William Carlos Williams
“Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid A million buds but stay their blossoming And trustful birds have built their nests amid The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing Till one soft shower from the south shall bid And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of Spring.”
Robert Bridges
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.
Seneca
drwilda 