The Tree Did Not Ask Permission

April sixteenth. The cherry tree outside my window bloomed overnight without any warning, which feels on-brand for a tree.

I noticed it this morning when I went to check if it was cold enough for a jacket, which, April in this part of the world, the answer is always technically yes and practically also yes, and instead of answering that question I just stood there for what turned out to be a long time. The blossoms were right at the glass. Like they'd made a decision. I didn't have anywhere to be for another hour and a half and Gerald was doing his usual thing of absolutely thriving in the windowsill light, and the collapsed bowl was there too, and the whole scene was so aggressively pleasant that I felt briefly suspicious of it.

the window, the hand, the blossoms doing too much

I took a few photos. I do not know what I'm going to do with them, which is, as established, a pattern. But this one felt different from the camera roll furniture situation, this one I might actually post. The letterpress workshop is this Saturday and I have been thinking about paper and texture and what things look like when you press them against a surface, and standing there looking at those blossoms through the glass felt like a version of that thought, which I realize sounds like a stretch but I'm telling you it didn't feel like one at the time.

Gerald witnessed the whole thing. unimpressed as always.

Anyway. I did eventually check the weather. Jacket. Obviously jacket. The tree looked very pleased with itself the whole time I was putting it on.