Even in death a single cherry blossom is remarkably beautiful. Half or more of the cherry blossoms have fallen from the tree. The wind whipped them into a blizzard the other day, scattering them far. Underneath the tree, they form a river of white.
They are as lovely off the tree as they are on the tree. There is no wind today. No clouds. No rain. There will be no blizzard of cherry blossoms on this quiet, cloudless, morning. A perfect day to hold a funeral for this year’s blossoms. Short, short lives to celebrate.
Frost tinges the grass this morning. A very late frost. No more bumblebees tickling their anthers or humming bird tongues licking their nectar. Cherry blossoms live but a week or two but impart wonderful memories that last a lifetime. When they are long gone, all I have to do is close my eyes and see them floating like clouds against a blue sky.
Now it’s the white plum blossoms that are opening. Followed by the pears, the fruiting cherry trees, and the apples. So the bumblebees and humming birds won’t go hungry. Not this year.