When the Yellow Trumpet trees (tabebuia aurea) bloom in my city, I know that the frost will not manifest itself in this winter season.

The flowered Yellow Trumpet trees, shedding its flowered yellow on the green grass, in national costumes, are harbingers of spring, as it prepares to reign, for ninety days.

They are like scouts that come forward, verifying the paths and beautifying the roads, streets, avenues and squares.

We remember that, about two thousand years ago, a man stood up in Palestine, walking through paths, alerting the population.

Similar to Yellow Trumpet trees, He announced the new season that was about to fill with flowers of hope worldwide. His was the announcement of the spring of renewal.

Prepare the pathways of the Lord…

After me, will come that of whom I am not worthy to untie the sandals.

I am the voice of one crying in the desert… in the desert of human hearts.

And the Baptist brought the abundant seeds of prophecies announced for centuries.

The King was among men. And He chose the stage of nature to intone His love song. He wrote poems and only the hearts of goodwill registered His verses, in the intimacy of the own being.

But the verses were echoing, taken by the winds, repeated by the mountains, hosted between the generous walls of those who accepted the invitation. Invitation of love. Invitation to love.

It was the heyday of spring. The Governor of the planet had come to be with His.

I am among you as one who serves. I am the good shepherd.

None of the sheep that my father entrusted me will get lost. The shepherd gives his life for the lives of his sheep.

Believe in God. Believe in me too.

Verses recited in the mountain, in the valley, on the roads. And fingered in lute of the Lake of Gennesaret.

Heavenly spring. Never equaled.

*   *   *

In the days that we live, new announcements are made. The era of regeneration approaches and gradually sets in.

The heralds are multiplying. The geniality returns to the stage of the world and the children recite, rhyme, compose symphonies and perform masterful pieces, in evocations of Celestial sublimity.

Genius advance studies in the sciences, dreaming with interplanetary travel, in messages of real fraternity.

And others lean over slides, books, in laboratories, academies, institutes, in investigations that aim the healing of the illness that afflict their siblings, the decrease of pain.

Others undertake campaigns on behalf of those who have nothing or almost nothing. Their concerns are not the merriment of childhood, but the well-being of other many children, close friends or strangers far away.

First fruits of spring. Spring in the hearts. Spring of a new world, regenerated. A world in which men will abandon the weapons that annihilate and embrace the lyre, the science, the art, the love.

A world that is already present. Like the yellow trumpet that embroider arabesques on the ground, that fill the eyes and say: The spring is closer!

Think about it and let the breath of spring of the new world penetrate us.

Spiritist Moment Team.
April 25, 2015.