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it was like a shower of pink snow

heady cotton-candy blossoms
It’s kind of weird, how you can be out walking on a drizzly day; hood pulled up to keep your head dry, because no self-respecting Portlander totes an umbrella, when out-of-the-gray you are blown-away with color.  Grape Hyacinth, with their heady aromas, stately tulips in painterly hues.  Crocus petals have faded since they debuted earlier than daffodils and obviously before the showy blossoms clinging to the flowering plum and cherry trees.

Now, living in Central Oregon, the color-timing is different; there's very little  gray since the sun reigns absolute 300 plus days a year.

Even so, I’m amazed by what a puff of wind can do – scattering clouds and drops of rain that have been captured in the creases of leaves and pine needles.  The best treat is when you pass under a tree whose branches are weighted with blooms looking like confections and you find yourself in a shower of pink snow.  Petals tumbling and drifting on whispers of air.  It’s beautiful and enchanting – a fairytale moment.

spring is full of such spaces in time; pretty little vignettes to step in

showered in pink

looking into the eye of the rabbit,
he stares a knowing glance as a bicycle chain clinks;
                                                                         the rider is gearing down
soft rain is spilling on the morning, amplifying the tire noise
an iron chair with a mosaic back sits at the edge of the tree smothered with cherry blossoms
                    a stone fire pit is nearby, charred remnants in the grate
birds chirp a tune, punctuated by squawking jays and the dull roar 
       of a jet overhead
gutters gargle the sky liquid, allowing drips to collect in makeshift bowls           pebbled-out in the dirt
            the commuter bus with its distinctive sound drones by, only to stop
selected blank moments are filled with the chatter of school kids
a breath of wind scatters the blooms
it was like a shower of pink snow; perfect petals tossed in the grass
                                rabbit blinks in understanding;
                                                                                   hopping off silent, unaware

Pretty in pink ...


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  1. I did not write about my pink snow quite so eloquently last year, or was it the year before. Mounds of pink laying on the ground while the rest still hangs tenaciously on the branches never ceases to delight the eye and the mind. Beautiful. Sounds like you are enjoying your new area.

    1. I remember you writing about the blossoms last year, Marlene. They really are very lovely when they are blown onto the grass. We are enjoying ourselves...especially time with our grandkids. That is the best. Happy spring.


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