Blurry but with clear intent.

It's cherry blossom time. The blooms are fat and heavy on the branches, low over my car. They're in my car. They're all over the front walkway, and pretty much everywhere else too. They're in the house, in Ruth's shoes. They pretty much take over until around Mother's Day and then they will dry up and disappear for another year. It makes up for a winter of...muted green clawed-back vegetation and slightly chilly temperatures and don't make me laugh, this isn't actually winter in Canada, who's pulling my leg?

I'll be cursing the track of petals through the house inside of a week because I've become all jaded and spoiled like that.

No, actually I won't. I secretly love them and still lament the fact that one of my neighbors decided to cut their trees down because they made a mess. Um, what? Seriously?

I can walk under the branches. Only the kids and I don't have to duck. Next year they probably will but I won't and then maybe I'll make a fort out there and not tell anyone where I've gone.

The petals are in PJ's beard, too. He has taken to double-checking his face every time he passes a mirror and the others keep fooling him, pointing to his face and saying You've got a little pink there, Paddy and he'll start combing through his facial hair while we laugh and laugh.

It's very pretty (no, not PJ's face, the wall of blossoming trees), and even though I am terrible with photographs and even if I wasn't, a picture could never do this justice, here. Enjoy.

(It would have at least been in focus, had Bonham not been pulling on the leash I was holding.)