cherry blossoms

It’s cherry blossom time in the D.C. area, and the famous Cherry Blossom Festival by the Tidal Basin is getting into full swing. Each year, this area bursts forth with cotton-candy pink blossoms on the trees that circle the monuments along the water, and people come from all corners of the globe to witness this rite of spring.

I grew up in the D.C. area, and the cherry blossoms were always a reliable marker of the change of the seasons. Winter was gone, and from here on out there would be flowers and warmer temps—April’s showers a signal of greener days to come. As a kid, going down to the Tidal Basin to see the cherry blossoms was like entering into a fairytale magic land, the pinks and greens of the trees like something out of a techni-color cartoon. I remember walking from tree to tree as petals sifted down through the wind to land in my hair, making me feel like I was wearing a crown of spring. There was something powerful coming from those trees, something energizing and healing.

As I got older the novelty started to wear off, and visiting the cherry blossoms felt more like a hassle, braving the traffic and crowds, and for several years my parents couldn’t drag me there no matter how much they tried. Then, I became a teenager, and thought I was in love, and strolled hand-in-hand with boyfriends stealing kisses beneath the pink canopy, thinking life couldn’t get more romantic than this showy display of season.

I got still older and moved away from the area, but this time of year I always crave the sight of those blossoms. Soon enough, I’ll get to see them for myself, for the first time in many years. Tonight I fly back on the red-eye to help take care of an ailing family member. It’s my goal to get him down to those blossoms, so that he and I together can enter into the magic-land, when D.C. goes Disney, and together witness the rejuvenating power of spring.

Photo courtesy of IgoUgo member Toatgo.