It is early May
and night is approaching.
With curtains still open,
I can see the Bird Cherry tree
in full flower outside my window.
Bunches and bunches of white fluffy fingers
are swaying in all directions,
bowing to the whims of the wind.
They seem to be dancing gracefully
in a magical ballet.
As the darkness deepens,
their whiteness becomes whiter
and their silhouette more striking.
A full moon is waiting,
waiting to take over its watch,
but in this interim,
this in-between time,
this twilight time,
the white-blossomed Bird Cherry
has its time,
and is filling this semi-darkness
with a touch of heaven.
One can only be still,
Sister Rose Boyle