Weed, California, May Day, 2008: I find myself waking earlier, for the sun bangs upon the blinds, and the dogs grow restive.
Yawning, I stumble outside, following the dogs. There is white frost on the newly-long grasses, and I blink in the light. The mountain is wreathed in clouds upon its shoulders, but rises above, up into a clear pale blue sky, and bright sunlight startles me in the crisp air.
Dogs dart here and there, in a world of fantastic scents hidden in the chill. As we make our way around the house, the frozen grasses crunch beneath our feet.
Suddenly I’m startled by the little tree near the road. I’d been told it was a cherry tree, but now I know.
Upon its twisted branches, pink cherry blossoms.