And Cherry Blossoms

I love that time of year when cherry blossoms get confused and think they're snow: falling softly on my hair as I walk, whirling in playful flurries on the passing wind, piling up in drifts so deep that the pavement is completely obscured, dreary gray giving way to optimistic pink.  Making things lovely, soft, and new.
Maybe I should have made a Blossom Angel

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