Mind you, it's still cold, and it's still raining; this is an Oregon spring. We've had one warm Sunday, like the huff of warmth out of the freshly-opened drier door, between the continuo of spring rain. But only one.
We went out and about in this blossomy spring last weekend, starting with an early morning run to Starbucks with the Peep so that Mommy could sleep in. Bursting with the chance that there might be firefighters getting their morning java, the little guy had to get into his full firefighter rig complete with helmet to ride down to the spendy coffeehouse. So it took a while to get out to the truck and get in, and work through the wriggling, and get our seatbelts on. And somewhere between wriggling and belts we noticed the Pink Snow.
The corner house on McKenna has three big cherry trees - Portland is right up there with D.C.'s Mall for cherry blossoms in the spring, BTW... These trees were passing through blossom time and the petals were swirling down into a pink dusting all along the northeast corner of the block. We ran over and kicked through the soggy petals and tried to catch a pink flowerflake as they corkscrewed past us, whorled by the damp wind.
I was entranced, the Peep merely entertained; as is so often the case the daddy is the more juvenile of the two of us. Fortunately my almost-four-year-old was there to sober me up and head me towards Starbucks and a responsible adulthood.text color instead of paragraph breaks - Blogger is being difficult this morning.