A Tribute to Cherry Blossoms

Dear reader,

Madness has broken out. The park is full of people behaving like it’s the arrival of something sacred—pointing cameras, fingers, babies, even entire picnic baskets up toward the pink trees. And who can blame them? After months of greyscale and darkness, this is the first burst of color that doesn’t come from a wool scarf or a tulip at the grocery store. We gather under the blossoms, necks craned, eyes wide, silently nodding to each other: We made it.