Another powerful, ‘once a year’ storm rolled in over the weekend. While I’ve mostly become accustomed to the ever-present rain this time of year, it’s the winds, howling mournfully as they race through the pines, the giant trees shuddering and swaying with each gust, and the branches and pine cones thudding violently against the house that still leaves me on edge.
The power was knocked out to hundreds of thousands of us here along the coast, along with many, many trees, their roots weakened, the ground saturated, from strong storms just last week, in this wettest-on-record winter.
The morning after, the streets still strewn with branches and pine needle debris, I snapped a few photos of the burgeoning spring blossoms dotting the trees. It seemed nearly impossible that the pretty, delicate, pink and white blossoms were still there, en masse, populating the dark, moss-covered branches with such enthusiasm. A sweet reminder of just one of life’s many, tiny miracles.