Month: April 2021

Some locations in the woods are well-known among my fellow Guilford students. The Underground Railroad trail and tree is usually the first landmark that comes to mind for most students. With a parking space and sign marking the entrance of the trail off of Nathan Hunt Road, the path to the Underground Railroad Tree diverges to the left which leads the curious traveler to an American Beech tree on the side of the hill. This tree has carvings all other it’s large smooth elephant skin like body that date back decades into history. This tree is often referred to as the Swing Tree. My friends and I called it the Glass Tree because when we found it there were mirror shards surrounding the base. The light reflection is what caught our eye as we ventured the woods. Further down the Underground Railroad tree, it diverges down steeper to an old stone wall now covered in spray paint. It’s likely you’d completely miss it if you weren’t looking for it. The wall seems to have once been a damn across the stream but it no longer impedes the flow of water next to it. My friend and I had been exploring that area one day when we found a large wooden bridge embedded deep in the water. Identifying that it was still fully intact and determined to pull it out, we revisited the bridge another day equipped with a rope. Not afraid to get wet or dirty, we tugged and heaved the bridge about 6 yards over to the stone wall and laid it across the stream to provide easy passage for all who may visit after us.  

      The Underground Railroad Tree and its current trail has only been a recently developed attraction. The tree itself has gained in popularity because of how long it has been growing in this area. The trail that people walk was not the route of the underground railroad. It is simply named as such because this massive Tulip Poplar tree, dating back to before the 1800s, was present during struggle for freedom for enslaved African Americans. Some of the Quakers that had settled on this land, including the famous Levi Coffin (1798- 1877), had assisted these people in their journey to reach freedom. During this time, almost the entire city of Greensboro was covered in forest. The European American Friends established the land that Guilford College sits upon in the 1700s. In 1875, a boarding school for Quaker students was founded with the construction of Founders. “Founders was just a building in the woods with a fence around it just to keep the animals out. They had to raise their own food, farm, raise animals, and chop their own firewood.” said Stan Gillman, a former Guilford librarian, during an interview for the Guilfordian in 1995. He explained to the interviewer that the women stayed in Founders while the men stayed in Duke Hall. Surrounding these two buildings was practically wilderness leaving them totally isolated for many years until John Woody was instructed by the superintendent of the school to make dirt road to the old train depot. Around the forming of this road came the development of all other roads and buildings we see today. The woods have undergone an immense amount of change since the founding of this school by the Religious Society of Friends but the massive old Tulip Poplar remains tall healthy and strong. 

So Rob called me one afternoon. It was September 2010. He’s family, like a brother, my cousin, we had a connection. He wanted to tell me about some Coyotes he had seen, see we would do that, ya know, tell stories of wildlife and adventure. Maybe one of us had seen a cardinal in deep snow, or a hawk strike a squirrel on a bird feeder, a flock of geese flying in a V to the north.

I knew he was cutting wheat straw that day in the field across from his house so I presumed I knew this story. Of how the coyote would follow the bush hog and chase the field mice, easy pickings. But he said no, not this time. He told me “There were five big males up on the tree line, and they came down and encircled me on the tractor, paying no attention to the scurry of the mice.” Startled I asked “What did they want Rob?” He thought a minute then said, “They seemed to be interested in me. They were paying attention to me!” I said “What did you do, Rob?” “I went home and got the gun, when I came back to finish up, they were gone.”

Now this kinda set me back a little bit, because you see Rob was a part of the natural world, he was not separated from it. I had heard tole of a time he walked over to wild turkey in tall grass. As it hunkered down, he picked it up and carried it over to our uncle so they could admire the plumage and the wonder of it all.

And this is a man that I had been boating with in the Tar River and as we skipped by in our small wooden boats he plunged his arm into that dark water and grabbed the tail of a snapping turtle and pulled him clamoring into the boat.

Now the fear in me of this primordial, evil, swamp monster. For Rob it was a turtle.

We had been on many camping trips like that. We had been on the Pamlico, Pungo, Pasquatank and the Perquimans. We had explored the Scuppernong the Chowan, the Wiccacon and the Meherrin. We had camped on the Deep and the Black, the Middle and the Little.

But in that field across from his house, all of that would change.

Four or five days after that incident he had with the coyotes, Rob was finishing up in that field as it was getting dark. As he shut her down and was climbing back off that tractor, he stumbled and missed the lower step. He fell, hard, on his butt. He got to his knees and walked home. The house was dark, the boys were in bed, his wife had left a plate out for him. He ate alone, took a shower, and went to bed.

That night his leg got sore and swollen, discolored and hurt. By the time the sun came up, and they put the boys on the bus to school, they took Rob up to the hospital. They called me on the way and asked me to stop by the farm and tell these men he was to meet that he would be late and might not come at all. I just happened to be driving by the hospital when I got that call so I turned in, parked right next to the ambulance, walked in the door and there was Rob. He was in a split gown, on a gurney, and with a wink in his eye he told me he had one upped me, referring to a remarkable fall I had had while camping with him some years prior. I went on to take care of my errand, they took Rob into the back to see the doctors.

That leg got worse as time went on, he was in a lot of pain. Paralysis set in. His blood count was wrong, he became very sick. They could not tell what was wrong with him. And after four or five days they had to do exploratory surgery and they opened him up. His intestines were infected and rotten. They had to take out a lot of his intestines and sew him back up. And over the next few days it happened again and again. They did not know if he had been bitten by a snake, stung by an insect, or bitten by a spider. They could not believe he could be so sick because of this small fall.

But he had developed a compact syndrome. It is where the muscles in his leg were atrophying and his body was trying to absorb all of those toxins through his intestines. And the toxins were causing his organs to fail. And after surgery after surgery, twenty one surgeries, death set in. I leaned in to his death bed and I told him I loved him. And I asked him to save me a seat, maybe let me drive a little bit when I get there. Because you see for me, heaven is sharing a boat seat with Rob in a wild place.

The night of his passing a childhood friend who lives closest to that tractor was awoken by the sounds of coyotes howling outside of her window. She sat up and she thought of Rob. And I wonder, what did those coyotes want? I think maybe they wanted Rob. If he was here today, would he think they were evil? I don’t think so. They were no more evil than that turkey, or that turtle or me. I think they were there to take him to explore another wild place.

4/5/21

Every day during the summer a beautiful juvenile Northern Harrier glides over the fields searching for prey. He circles each field carefully, calling out with his shrill cry, waiting for a response nearby. He looks like he doesn’t have a neck, with a round face a lot like an owl, yet with red feathers and sleek body it is clear he is not an owl. I would wait for the opportunity to hear that call, a special sound no one paid attention to. Like an albatross skimming the surface of the ocean, the Harrier would graze over the fronds of the Johnson Grass looking for the rodents that called our pastures home. 

Every spring for years our dog Juni, a deerhound with a free spirit that we couldn’t contain, would uncover a nest of baby rabbits, eastern cottontails all marked with a tiny white teardrop on their forehead. She would kill all but one, ripping off their heads as if they were dolls, leaving me scrambling to try to keep the last one alive. I carefully picked her up, so young that her eyes had yet to open, cradling her in my hand, careful not to hold her incorrectly knowing how fragile their spines are. I would nestle her into a small Tupperware lined with an old t-shirt, kept close to the woodstove. I had learned by then to keep rodent antibiotics, puppy formula and several syringes at hand for situations like this even though the rabbits never lasted the night. I thought it was my job to try to save them since my dog had murdered their family, but that was just nature. I was used to digging graves for rabbits, baby or adult, groundhogs and birds, they would die in my arms and I would send them off with a tiny bouquet of my favorite wildflower, whatever was growing at the time. It was always sad witnessing the death of an innocent being from something man made. Some days I would wake up to find a shining emerald hummingbird lying on the ground, dead from hitting a window ear;y that morning, frozen as if still in motion, an oily imprint left on the grass. It seemed cruel. Or the songbird that drowned in a bucket of car oil my dad left out one day, its life taken by an accident, by something I or my family had done. It looked like mud but so oily that the bird was mummified in a slime that would never come off. I had never seen anything like it. It was a lack of respect as the oil would never allow it to decompose properly and It would never return to the earth as intended. Those accidental deaths felt the worst.

What would remind me of life however were the bats that would emerge at dusk during the summer to eat the mosquitoes and moths that plagued the farm. Their liveliness and swiftness screamed life as they did circles in the dark blue sky, looking like shadows from where I stood on the ground. I never saw them on the ground as that was not their home.

Since the start of Pinehurst Arboretum people have rallied around its protection and growth as a natural space. Community is what keeps it alive and thriving. They take care of the area by cleaning and planting, they walk throughout the natural landscape keeping the space a part of the community. 

Just a few weeks ago a volunteer group, led by my mother, started a cleanup of the Native Pollinator Garden, turning it from winter, with old dried out growth, to spring with bright new green grasses. Community came together to work on something that helps the area stay beautiful and useful for both humans and nature. I can only imagine that the next step is for the community to continue the growth of the newest section of Pinehurst Arboretum, whether from enjoying it or planting new flowers and bushes.

Even in the COVID-19 pandemic the natural spaces have been used to convene together. People ride their bikes, play with children and jog through the trails. They gather in these spaces to be together outdoors in unsettling times. One day I even saw a group of senior ladies hosting their book club at the Pavilion. Outdoors is no longer just a space for outdoor activities it is a space for all that come to seek out its beauty. 

A new community event called the Flutterby Festival started in 2019. It was a festival to teach about pollination, butterflies and how they contribute to nature. Unfortunately the Flutterby Festival was not possible during 2020, but it has been said that it will be held this year in September. Bringing the community together with an official Pinehurst Arboretum event for the first time in over a year. At this event I have been asked to speak about Pinehurst Arboretum and I plan to use it as an opportunity to show how the natural space has benefited us as humans, along with the animals.

Over the years there have been lots of more community events, other festivals, concerts, art exhibitions, hikes with friends and those makeup for great memories that you can cherish. I even had my Girl Scout Ambassador bridging ceremony in Pinehurst Arboretum. But nothing is more satisfying than just being part of the community. Helping design a new section of Pinehurst Arboretum, helping fundraise for upkeep or even helping with the upkeep yourself and other people. It makes us a community to care about this natural environment and just spending time in that space is what brings the community closer.

Being outdoors is more crucial than ever since it is often the only space majority of people feel comfortable since the COVID-19 pandemic. Natural spaces are becoming gathering areas for all activities and Pinehurst Arboretum provides that space. Along with natural beauty, the fresh air and ability to social distance is comforting for many. These outdoor spaces are the best way that we can commune with each other at the moment. But it also provides a feel into nature and lets people learn to love the space they are in as a community.

The family of deer that Miles and I saw on our first visit made many appearances throughout the year. I recall the excitement I felt every time I spotted them crossing within eyesight. Growing up in the city, it was a new experience for me to observe deer in their home which was also my new home. A few months into school, I was reading the last book of the Lord of the Rings series in a chair I found in the woods. Being completely silent, I heard the family of deer crack a few branches and rustle a few leaves as they moved. Between the trees, I could spot their thin light brown smooth bodies gracefully creep by. I made no noise. I didn’t want to startled them. I wanted them to trust me. After they passed out of sight, I returned to my book. Aragorn (aka Strider) was tracking the Orcs who kidnapped Pippin and Merry. He could read the ground and identify how who had passed through the land, how long ago and how fast. Once I had concluded my reading, inspired by his tracking skills, I decided to follow the route the deer had followed. I had seen which direction they had taken so it wasn’t really a surprise that I found their foot prints in the mud but I was thrilled none the less. I felt like Aragorn following their footprints off the human trail. The footprints are easy to identify in the mud because the two points on the deer’s hoofs stick into the dirt making a sharp inverted point. Following them taking pictures, I also found a blunt wrapper. I took a picture of that too, “Tracks of human presence in this area too!” Excited by the smallest of markings, I was over was over the moon when I emerged from the thicket out onto a human trail I hadn’t known was there.  

      Turning to my left on the trail, I was overwhelmingly excited to spot a wooden bench made from tree cuts sitting there in silence. As I drew closer, there was so much more there than I had anticipated. The bench had been nailed together around one side of an old small firepit. I found a metal candle holder with two large curving metal arms on each side reaching for the sky like it was something sacred. Behind the firepit, lies an old tent that had been many times washed over by the collection of rain. I tired pulling it out but it was so full of dirt I wouldn’t move from its planted location. I learned later that this upper classman boy I knew had camped out there his freshmen year. I don’t know why he would leave his tent but it was evident to me that students of all generations had explored their way through these woods. I had found the chair I was reading in also by chance of casual exploration. I was galloping through the disc golf meadows when I spotted the subtlest of paths diverting into the woods from the largest meadow in the course. Following this subtle narrow path, I spotted something shiny in the distance. It turned out to be silverware strung on a wire linked between trees. There I found the chair, another old firepit, old worn-down beer cans and what I guessed to be a really old grass cutter. I went back to that location many times finding old objects scattered all over the place. After venturing around for some time, I put together that the households that border this part of the woods used it as a place to dumped their junk. As a person who loves repurposing junk, I relocated many objects I found in the woods. I used a large metal sheet I found to form a roof between a live tree and a dead one, a shelter from the rain or snow. I moved an old broken shelf that I found near this firepit and shelter where I placed all the old beer cans because if this junk is going to sit here, might’ve as well make it an exciting space to happen upon if someone ventures far enough in the right direction. After I happened upon these locations in the far-left side of the Guilford Woods, I had a drive in me to uncover every secret these woods held.  

 I was raised in the big city of Atlanta, Georgia. I enjoyed growing up within walking distance of a nice large park where there was a lot of space to run around. Candler park has a soccer field, couple of courts, a pool, meadows, a playground, a big golf course, a sewer pond, a runoff stream, and a small hidden wooded area that served as a place of refuge for homeless people until the evil people of the city removed them. It was fantastically fun over the years but for the next chapter in my life, I wanted to live in a city where I could easily access true isolation within nature. Then I met the Guilford Woods. It was love at first visit.  

      Guilford College was introduced to me by a friend who described it as a “cool Quaker school.” Being a Quaker myself, I was intrigued but hearing about the woods is what really got me hooked. The college recruiter told me that he would go to the woods with his friends all the time when he went to Guilford. He told me of firepits that students made to have parties around and of the many trails that lie within. I told myself, “I need to see this.” Flash a few months later, and I’m there as an admitted prospective student, for Guilford was the only college I applied to. By complete chance, my childhood Quaker friend Miles was there visiting Guilford at the same time. Miles and I went on a walk to the Underground Railroad tree we had heard about. We followed the sign and hung to the right of the trail not far into the woods. It’s hard to tell with the wooden platform underneath but this tree is massive. Sitting on the platform, we spotted a family of deer making its way through the woods. At that moment, those deer put a huge stamped seal on my decision to go to Guilford College. I felt that this was exactly where I was meant to be, like I was already home in this new place. 

       Beginning school in August, meant we were nearing the end of the summer. The creatures of Guilford College were still roaming the land. I made a new friend who was very good at spotting and catching toads. I eventually was able to do the same. I remember one toad who didn’t want to leave my hand when I went to set it down. I carried him to a stream in the woods. Centipedes were crawling all over the place. One was eventually was picked up by a military boy who told me he usually wouldn’t think twice about killing “one of these things”, but at that moment he found himself holding it. He even named his new friend. It was a tender sight to see man of this kind to bond with nature. Within the first weeks of my arrival at Guilford, I found a blue butterfly who didn’t fly away as I approached. Testing its boundaries, I reached for it. It crawled onto my finger and chose not to leave. The blue wings slowly opened and closed as I walked it back to my room. As its flaps became slower, I set it on my bouquet of flowers, and there it remained frozen as my flowers dried. I never touched them again until I moved out. Being already in love with the woods and excited about the abundance of wildlife I was experiencing, I was determined to become very familiar with every corner of the woods I could reach. 

I have always noticed it, but the world is full of litter. The litter is a stark contrast that sticks out on the landscape like a bluebird in a murder of crows. The world is littered with trash, littered with people, and littered with noise. Now, as I look to the sky above me, my ears are assaulted by the sound of a low flying plane. 

All of this litter comes from one thing. Humans. It is my belief that people are the only cause for pollution in this world. 

I look to the sky and hear the planes from the Piedmont Triad International Airport. It is exactly ten minutes and six and a half miles from where I am standing right now. Convenience outweighs mindfulness. As it stands, people are more concerned with doing something quickly, instead of doing what they know is right. They abandon their moral obligation to the planet and their environment in order to save time.

In class, we discussed that there are less than fourteen places on earth that are not littered with noise. These places are “utterly free of man-made sound.” At this moment, I wish I were there. I wish I were somewhere in the world where I could only hear the peek of a woodpecker or the whoosh of water over a bed of rocks. Even now, as I bend down to take a picture, the heavy footsteps of a runner clomp behind me and the sounds of a little dog yapping echo in tune with the stream to my left. The owners of the white dog whisper quietly, but still inadvertently disrupt nature’s rhythm and my own thoughts.

As I take a picture of the stream, I see a red book caught between a rock and the fallen limb of a tree. Once again trash mars nature’s majesticity. 

As I continue my walk, I see the hearts of young lovers marked in the beech trees along the trail. The initials have been stretched and are hardly recognizable after the many years that have undoubtedly passed since they were etched in the smooth silvery bark of the trees. The narcissism of these young people will have an infinite mark on nature. It will pollute the beautiful landscape and the bark of the trees, permanently. 

Even now, as I reflect on the time I’ve spent within the woods, I think of all the trash that has made an appearance in my pictures. The worst part about litter is that the trash is left because of another person’s carelessness and indifference.

I walk down the  windy trails and end up at the dam. New art has been painted on the concrete slab. The words read “BLOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED.” I am not sure if I was supposed to take this as a sign, but in the moment it seems relevant to my current situation. Immediately, I am reminded of the Eastern Red Cedars that dot the pavement leading to the lake. These trees are notorious for being drought tolerant and their ability to withstand poor soil conditions. Despite these conditions, Easter Red Cedars continue to flourish and provide shade for the creatures and organisms that seek refuge under their neede-ly leaves. 

Not only do these trees bloom where they are planted, they thrive and are able to support life around them. Despite their shitty conditions, they are able to flourish and remain beautiful. I take the lesson and hope to one day bloom as beautifully.

Lately, as my classes start to wrap, I’ve found myself working a lot. If I’m not working, I’m in class. If I’m not in class, I’m sleeping. I’ve been telling myself to “just get through this week” for ten weeks. It worked.

On a delightfully chilly Sunday afternoon, I decided it was time to take a walk to recenter myself.

Life is full of choices, some are more important than others and none of them weigh the same. When my path splits into two, I am faced with a choice. A trivial decision that has no real consequences, but is still important to me. The trailhead to my right is marked with a sycamore tree. The roots dig into the soil, deep and unwavering, like the invisible tether between nature and the human soul. The second trail is marked with a beech tree. English ivy vines slither from the wet dirt and up the tree’s trunk, in a mess of green leaves that can never be untangled. 

I realized, if I live my life without ever looking up, I would never be able to see how I got where I am currently. Acknowledging how life and its pacing is different now is an important step. Nature has always been an anchor in my life. It provides direction and peace. The whispers of the wind whipping my hair, the happy tweets of chickadees above me, and the thrumming of silence are sensations I never would have been able to hear in my four-walled dorm prison. I never would hear them if I didn’t stop to take in nature’s conversing around me.

Throughout my time in The Woods, I have also identified myself in nature. I see myself within these two trees. I am rooted in my experiences, ones I have brought with me, and memories I have made with my friends and myself during my adventures. These memories and experiences have contributed to a deeper understanding of my soul and identity. My soul lives within the trunk of my tree. With each new thought, I can create, I branch out to create my own experiences so I may grow intellectual curiosity and awareness of my connection to the land.

Nevertheless, I must choose a path. Each trail will lead me to another adventure toward self-discovery and an appreciation for the life that is sustained on this land.

On my way forward, I find a broken bridge. To either side are pilewort weeds. The glossy yellow petals reflect the springtime sun and provide a stark difference between the brown earth and the bright green and yellow from the lesser celandine. 

I continue forward. As I take a step, my left foot sinks into the earth. I lose my balance and my right foot disappears beneath a layer of mocha mud. I’m stuck. Figuratively stuck in my constant indecision and literally stuck in the ground like the weeds I was just admiring.  

I fall forward and pull myself from the mud on a fallen tree trunk. I straddle the tree to reflect on my harrowing experience.

The bicentennial gardens are a hop, skip, and jump from the bog garden in Greensboro.

The gardens are very popular with tons of walking trails, scenery, and visual art to admire.

As you can see from the map they’re relatively very close to each other. The bicentennial gardens is located at 1105 Hobbs Rd. It shares the same qualities as the bog garden such as being quiet, peaceful, and effortlessly beautiful.

The bicentennial gardens were created in 1976 by the Greensboro beautiful project. The garden is 7 1/2 acres and is filled with different attractions.

One of the main attractions is the sculpture located in the garden called “the student” modeling a typical student that would’ve attended the David Caldwell College. I presume this models a white man with money considering the time frame where no one was allowed to be educated except that specific group. The gardens were built on the land that once belonged to Log college in 1767.

The bicentennial gardens is also called the “sensory” garden because the gardens pertain to all of the senses. The garden features varieties of trees annuals, perennials, and shrubs. The location is home to a gazebo which serves as a popular wedding location. Often times when it is nice out a lot of people come to take graduation, wedding, family and lots of pictures because of the vivid landscape.

The gardens are in partnership with Greensboro beautiful which is a non profit organization that is filled with volunteers.

Below is a map of the Bicentennial garden.

The garden has many features besides the gazebo.

At the beginning of the garden there is a way to donate money and also lend your name to the garden engraved on a brick stone.

The woodland stream is one of the popular features. It is a manmade waterway that recirculates and runs throughout the garden providing some texture, sound, and movement.

There is a separate section of gardens named Camberley’s garden after the memory of Camberley Holiday, the former daughter of former Greensboro mayor Keith Holliday. The children passed away and the garden is dedicated as remembrance.

The rock garden is another separate garden with a creative stone wall section designed by a volunteer, Windham.

The section of the garden is the Lillian Livingston Daylilly garden. One of my favorite parts of the garden because I love lilies.

A close second to my favorite features would be the part of the gardens named the Alexander Magnum Memorial garden. The garden has a couple benches accompanied with three sets of giant wind-chimes that are effortlessly beautiful. The benches are on a stone floor with a couple big boulders and painting nearby. This section was newly added in April 2020.

The old mill which I mentioned in one of my other previous posts, is remodeled after the mill that David Caldwell operated in the 1780s. The mill has a free-standing water wheel that works with the recirculating stream.

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Winter is turning into Spring like death turns into life. The new hope and rebirth of the season brings life into the trees and flowers. It is a wonderful excitement to see barren bushes go from leafless to blossoming in a matter of days. 

Pinehurst Arboretum is no stranger to a transformation of the seasons. Having opened in 2003 it has seen a lot. Not only has it changed seasons for over a decade but it has also seen changes of Pinehurst Arboretum’s offerings. From the new Native Pollinator Garden, to the construction of the Pavilion, to all of the growth that the plants have gone through, changing is something that Pinehurst Arboretum is used to.

Spring has brought all sorts of new changes. Birds are migrating back to the north, bees and butterflies are flying through the trees and the weather brings warm hope for the new year. Every year I look forward to the changes that awaits spring, in all its beauty.

Transformations can be slow at times that makes it all the more exciting to wait for the beauty. Pinehurst Arboretum’s Magnolia Garden took weeks to transform into a flowering wonder. Bit by bit you can see the buds develop then start to break free from the hold of the cocoon then open into a gorgeous sweet smelling blossom. Once one starts they all do and soon the Southern Magnolia tree is filled with blossoms that cover the trees branches in delightful petals.

But transformation can be more about the changing seasons, it has formed itself into the creek at Pinehurst Arboretum. One visit to the creek and I saw something unexpected, algae floating in the water, that covered everything except a few sandbanks. It was a rather unusual sight, algae didn’t grow before in this creek and I was disappointed because you couldn’t see any of the plates and pottery that the creek holds. However the algae was a new transformation that while unusual it made the creek look like a sea of floating grass, waving along with the slow ripple of the creek, it was quite extraordinary. Yet the algae did not last as soon as it appeared it disappeared within a week and it hasn’t returned since.

Another transformation at the creek happened at the same time was the shifting of rocks around the creek. While the creek has unnatural shifts because of human and animal interference, this was a natural shift. The transformation in question was the development of a waterfall. Rocks at the end of the creek shifted ever so slightly to change the usual pattern of water flow into a waterfall. The waterfall created the most beautiful picturesque scene with the babbling of the water hitting the bottom it was a transformation into peacefulness.

The last transformation I have seen is a more traditional one. Right before the Woodland Garden there is a patch of daffodils and in a short amount of time they have gone from bulbs, to miniature leaves to blossoming beauty. It is the traditional spring that we all see every year. Flowers blossoming is the mark of change into a new season. Those blossoms will be gone in a matter of days but they still show the transformation into a new.