There’s a cherry tree grove at the south end of Regent’s Park Broad Walk. The trees are finally in bloom – glistening tar-black trunks, knotted bark, long weathered branches heavy with pink blossom. It’s the season's boastful masquerade.
It’s a blustery, wet day, and people frown at their phones, fidget, desperately trying to find the perfect spot for a selfie. The rain stopped a few hours ago, and the ground is still soggy, the grass still sparse. A group of students sit on blankets, eat sandwiches, drink beer. It’s the weekend, and it's the best way to start the weekend.
I stand under the cherry trees, where the shadow is thick and fragrant, and look up. Others are also looking up. The cherry blossoms go wild, and windswept petals rain on us.
It’s spring. It’s the best of spring.
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