First come the buds
Heralding presence of Spring
My younger self perched by the window
Waiting waiting for the burst
A pink shower of confetti
Branches heavy with frilly fragile flowers
Out we go my aunt, my sister and I
The air has turned from cold to sweet
Sweet as cherries
Petals land gently on my head
Not so with my aunt
“Ah!” She cries
Gentle turns to avalanche
My sister shakes a pregnant branch
Blossoms crown copper curls like a princess veil
My dad stands in the window picturing a bridal veil
Walking down 19th Avenue arm in arm with his daughter
A Spring wedding dream
