As the sun heralds the arrival of the new season, white blossoms erupt, decorating the branches with a blanket of white in a tribute to the fading winter. The cool breeze rustles the blooms in a playful caress, vestiges of the chill defiantly opposing the emerging dominance of brilliant rays.
Standing in the shade of the tree, appraising the branches that reach towards heaven, eagerly in the hopes of merging with the sky blue, i feel the long standing urge of man to sprout wings and take to the skies.
And yet, the clarity of it's impossibility strikes in me a sense of acute desolation. Just like these blossoms, i shall remain earth-bound. Since i can't merge with the blue, at least grant my wish to be able to see it often from afar. And i shall learn to be content.
And yet, the clarity of it's impossibility strikes in me a sense of acute desolation. Just like these blossoms, i shall remain earth-bound. Since i can't merge with the blue, at least grant my wish to be able to see it often from afar. And i shall learn to be content.
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