First came the shy, perfect stutterings of narcissus and hyacinth. Forsythia followed with an unabashed soliloquy. And then entered the beautiful but immature boldness of the Bradford pear, bloomed and greened, turning verse awkwardly.
But now, now enter the sovereigns of song: redbud and dogwood.
Redbuds sing praise with purple pastorals, filling valleys with their wild Lenten hues, pulling hearts toward Pascha. Dogwoods float along hillsides like clouds. They are sweet processions of speech, gladdening crucifers. Theirs is a romantic conceit, whispered in a lover's ear. Their limbs are twisted under the weight of proclamation, bent and sprained with Teresa's beauty. Tender petals, perfect and pierced, unfold from crooked hard wood.
On creation's lips is Christ.
The earth erupts; bright choruses of tulips sing hallelujahs, sweet antiphons.