Ch-ch-ch- Cherry 🎶

Cherry blossoms are the anthem of spring.

With Cherry come birds, and with them come song.

Ch- Ch- Ch- Changes... 🎶

We have two cherry trees on our property here. I've been watching the hummingbirds pollinate ten thousand blossoms.

Hummingbirds carry spring energy too, don't they. Buzzing, focused, flitty. That's about how I feel these days, only less graceful probably.

I remember the first time I felt wonder for Cherry. It was a windy day in Vancouver and I had made my way to the beach on my bike. Cherry blossoms are sturdier than they look. Long before they let go into a flurry of pink snow, they hold on. Tight. The day I first marvelled, the Cherry's branches were being tossed around like Harry Potter on his bewitched broom.

And not a petal flew off.

That's the thing about nature. It knows how to get to its destination. And Cherry makes a pretty sweet fruit.

We associate the cherry fruit to youth, virginity and adolescent girls with lip gloss and miniskirts.

Having been all of the above, I don't like the attention that association entails. There's a malice to it.

The truth about Cherry carries far more purity than the marketing ploys ever understood.

Cherry's stalky trunk, beardy lichen and knobliness looks much like an arthritic old hippie. The blossoms don't exist on shaved legs and manicures.

I'm not judging prettiness, by the way, I quite like feeling pretty myself. And I rock a short skirt on occasion because it makes me feel flirty. The difference is, I'm aware of it now.

Youth is the first innocence but it is blissfully naive to its own purity.

The thought of having to bend down in the skirt didn't occur to me when I tried it on. That's where the blushing came from, not coyness. My naivety never made greedy eyes right.

And this story, it's the PG version of innocence-stealing horror stories. Our stories aren't rare, but common doesn't mean acceptable.

The hard truth is innocence must be lost if it wishes to mature.

The petals hang on tight but they too, must let go.

I mourned this loss. It's easy to be resentful or regretful. It's another to learn to find thankfulness again.

I think about how I became sturdier and it did involve some leg work.

It did involve rage and its war cries melting into grief.

Once we're clear on the other side of knowing better, we thank the people who helped us cross over. We surrender what was never ours to begin with and start to craft something entirely our own.

We make a new purity, once more, just like Cherry, year after year.

We call to the birds and they do nothing but love us.

We call only for the admiration of those who know how to look at flowers, because their hearts are open to the miracle.

Not everyone sees a flower, or even ten thousand.

Thick skin and a soft heart, that's how I want to live. And cherries in my pie, thank you.

I hope I can flower with as much gentleness and poise as the pink princesses.

I hope I can celebrate young girls in any type of clothing, because who they are goes far beyond their outfit choice.

I hope I can honour us, collective Young Girl, smart, daring, wild and beautiful.

May we cultivate our sturdiness, too.

I like a knobbly old hippie.

And for this, I thank you Ch- Ch- Ch- Cherrryyy 🎶

Thanks for being here,

Izzy >3