Every year I hope someone will chop down this wonky imperfect tree.
But every year, in spite of how broken it is, it blooms sweet, pale pink flowers.
Last week my friend said that as we follow our dreams,
we're fulfilling the measure of our creation.
Thanks, tree. Thanks, friend.
For the reminder that beauty often comes from unexpected places.
And perfection isn't a requirement.
And no matter how broken we are, we can bloom again.
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