The Predicted Blizzard Arrived

It happens every year. In spring, just as the daffodils are fading and the tulips are nodding toward the sun, the pink blizzard arrives. It was forecast. We knew it would come. It did not disappoint us.
This year has seen particularly deep drifts among the flower beds with accumulations of up to an inch on the sidewalk. The grass is almost covered, and like the winter white stuff, we track it into the house on our shoes. Every morning we clear the walk and by evening it has drifted over. We stamp our feet and drag our shoes across the door mat trying to dislodge the sticky bits, then give up and just walk in leaving tiny pink puddles behind.


Now there's another forecast: high winds and turbulence. That would be the vacuum cleaner picking up those bits of pink. We don't mind at all.

Pink Snow In the Forecast

Outside our front door is a tree that turns fluffy pink each spring. I believe it's a Kwanzan Cherry, but its name doesn't matter. Pink blossoms like mini-roses form a canopy over our miniscule front yard, branches reaching high against Phil's office windows, and low arching into the still bare branches of its neighboring bush.


Standing at the front door and looking out is one of the pleasures of the morning, to see the sun streaming through pink clouds. We rarely trim it back, preferring to let the tree spread protectively even though that means our tiny front yard is not grass covered. It's a fine trade-off for the shade it provides against summer's heat.


Soon the clouds will break and snow down on the ground, covering it with little pink petals. A couple of years ago a toddler came by during this snow and began lifting chubby handfuls and tossing them over his head. Giggling happily, he did it again and again.

Isn't it nice that one tree can give such pleasure?