Starting in shadows only possible by sunlight, the cherry blossom parade began its march in the cold, grim gray around which spring sometimes surrounds us. A cruel few days of wind threaten their duration and perfection, hastening their exquisite show in a spring that has proven unwieldy and wild.
This cherry tree moves quickly – its blooms barely noticeable one day, then suddenly bursting open with the first drip of rain. Up until the last week or so it’s been a dry spring. These were just waiting for the water, and they don’t care whether it’s sunny or gray when they bloom. It will happen when it happens.
Instead of enjoying them on the branch, while the wind bit at my face, I hurriedly stole these pictures. Looking at them now, I feel a residual echo of their beauty and grace. This year, that will have to be enough.
