I remember the dogwoods blooming more than anything. That brief window of unbridled beauty that swept across campus in the spring. Their blooms fat and pink, weighing down the twisted branches. For four years, their bursting buds and fragrance ushered in a sense of renewal and hope.

The dogwoods were significant; they carried symbolism known only the the few of us. When they came alive, I always felt like things were about to change for the better. They made the difficulties of the year easier. Like a birthday, or New Years Day – blooming dogwoods meant a new start.

I can feel that sensation inside of me again. I hope that, whatever has happened in the past, will be washed away with the spring. Despite the heavy frost everywhere, and no sign of blooms in sight, I feel the security that spring brings. I feel hope in the absence of my trees; faith in something less tangible than a carpet of petals.