The blossoms open unconcerned with the workings of humanity. They sway in the May breeze that lifts from a river singing. They turn their pale faces to the sun and seem to say: See, all there is, is this moment. Sun-soaked petals heavy with fragrant nectar and the creaking sway of the wind. Take it in, child of earth. Be with us, let us drink in the now together. What else is there? What else could be more important?