Lessons learned from my magnolia tree

Last week we had that one sunny day. In Seattle this is akin to Jesus coming to visit. There is that kind of buzz. People don't even say hi to you, they say "Oh my God isn't it beautiful," as a greeting. And if you glance around the office, you will notice that you are probably alone or stuck with some pretty miserable people, because everyone else is outside. It's seriously that deep.
And then it went back to that colorless sky, on again off again chilly rain that is our perpetual default. I would be annoyed except, if you've ever been here you know it's not an ordinary gray. Seattle is too beautiful even on a blah day, that perfect alchemy of green with water and mountains and a killer cityscape skyline. I digress.

So it was another one of those gray days when I stepped out onto my back porch juggling all my work crap, trying like hell to make it to the car, when I noticed my Magnolia tree. Just the day before it had been barren. Now suddenly it was decked out with porcelain looking buds, silky white but blush wine colored at the base. It was enough to pull me out of my morning mania. When did that happen? How did I miss it?

One day it was winter and now, my grass is growing again and the blackberry bush is puffing out, threatening to take over my whole back yard. And I wonder about the comparable processes in my life, all the unseen unfelt evolution within me. I want to wake up tomorrow budding, ripe to bloom. I want to wake up with so much beauty within me that it can no longer be contained by any semblance of barreness. Rumi says flowers celebrate by falling apart...I don't want to get that far overjoyed, if anything I am hoping more to fall together, connect all the pieces of what I want, what I love, who I am and what I do to make a perfect blossom of divine right purpose and soul prosperity.