ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕣𝕪𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕁𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕪

  🌼🍄Spring arrives not with thunder, but with petals. 🍄One by one, the blossoms begin to open—quiet, fragile bursts of color suspended in still air. Cherry, plum, apple, magnolia—they bloom as if from dreams, soft as breath and twice as fleeting. In a world just waking from winter’s hush, they are the first to speak. 🌼🌸And what they say is not loud, but it is profound. 🌸Blossoms are spring’s poetry. They bloom in silence, yet they transform entire landscapes. A single tree, once bare and skeletal, becomes a cloud of pink or white or lavender—a living sculpture of light and scent. Walk beneath it, and you're suddenly in a painting, or perhaps a memory. 🌸🪷There is something sacred about blossoms. They don’t last long—days, maybe a week if we’re lucky. And in that brevity lies their beauty. They teach us to stop, to notice, to honor the fleeting. You cannot own a blossom. You can only stand in its presence, breathe in its sweetness, and let it move some...