blossom - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The blossom spread on the vine, the stretching bare tendrils one year and sweet pink petals the next.
The blossom opens as if each flower was a book - a book that was more sculpted than written, the ink infusing into the petals to give them their soft glow. It is a tale of eons passed, of the loving care of the soils, the rain and the sun, a tale of the insects, the soil bacteria and fungi. And yet, for all of that, it is a great love story told in its silent way, the brain reading such volumes in an instant of intuition, a fraction of a beautiful moment.
In spring the trees that line the avenue are clothed in pink and white blossom. To see the boughs that were so bereft in the snow become so beautifully adorned lifts my spirits. Their scent becomes diffuse in the warming breeze and I hold my head high to savour it. When their petals rained down in a steady trickle a few weeks later, I feel like a bride just to walk under them.
The blossom arrives like cake frosting on the trees in delicious creams and pinks. The petals burst out from lower down the branches leaving the tips still in tight bud. After the denuded trees of winter their new and splendid clothes are a joy to see. I want a step ladder to get close enough for their new-season aroma. Though the calendar says it is winter for a few weeks yet, the trees tell me it is spring. In a few more weeks those petals, those perfect silky hearts, will flutter down as gentle rain. Just to watching them tumble will bring back memories of weddings, my own included. Fun times, beautiful times...
The one had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling, and the earth beneath was dappled with the shadows of his fluttering leaves. The other bore leaves of a young green like the new-opened beech; their edges were of glittering gold. Flowers swung upon her branches in clusters of yellow flame, formed each to a glowing horn that spilled a golden rain upon the ground; and from the blossom of that tree there came forth warmth and a great light.
As delicate as the thinnest of tissues and as vibrant as in Indian silk, the blooms with their various forms added their perfume to the drawing room. The gardener would clip them fresh every Monday and Thursday and pass them to the housekeeper for changing.