It is not among the requirements of blossoms that their work of approaching fullness takes the shape of ballet or sculpture, although it has that promise. Still, for we who watch, their final form belies the process of their emergence and reflects the limits of language and understanding.
Sometimes I forget that the grace of being in flower belies the work of being born - our daily observation of these pet plants may note nothing of their tasks, only focusing on their grace in our moments of attention. I cannot envision myself coming into this world so fully formed, so perfect, without an awareness of what it required from me.
Yet our understanding of these miracles is so limited. We cannot define whether the process of blossoming is painful or joyous or some combination beyond our experience. Perhaps it is enough to fall under the spell of the bloom's apparent perfection, the sheer, extravagant glory it manifests. Perhaps that's all we need to understand.