Our blossom trees have finally bloomed - and all around the neighbourhood and beyond we're delighting in spotting the delicate blooms of every size and colour. We've actually been late to school multiple times this week - and blossom spotting is one of the reasons. Unfortunately we haven't been late enough (will have to try longer detours) to fill out a note explaining our lateness. Was kind of looking forward to writing: blossom spotting on an official document.
I'm dragging Arch to the nursery regularly (plant variety, not baby kind) to swoon over the different varieties. I have a dream of a yard full of these trees and a year ago I bought a crab apple tree (for Father's Day actually, on behalf of the kids - Jonathan's raised eyebrows told me that he knew this was another one of "those" presents, supposedly for him, but really for me). But so far the (non) blooming crab apple has done nothing. Zilch. It is a stick in the ground. A naked stick. Okay it's not totally naked. It has a couple of leaves - just to let me know it's not actually dead. But I was hoping for blooms or at least a growth spurt. I was hoping for hordes of peachy pink flowers that we could dance around and under (okay, maybe not the last bit so much). Oh well, maybe next year.
My favourite blossom memory is from high school when my family first moved to the Blue Mountains. The climate was usually mild but occasionally the weather would veer towards an extreme. It was winter and our front yard had three beautiful old gnarly trees. The blossoms were breathtaking: palest pink, apricot and whites with green centres, an exquisite mix. One afternoon, seemingly out of nowhere, snow fell. Against that white background the delicate blossoms were so beautiful. No one thought to take a photo.
Around for such a brief moment in time, they are a glorious reminder in winter that spring is coming. Can't wait.