Last weekend, on Mother’s Day, the hubs and I went for a walk in High Park to see the cherry blossoms and then trekked all the way home from there. As neither one of us lives in the same city as our moms, we had nice long phone calls with them in the morning (fulfilling our mother’s day obligations because sadly there were no brunches, lunches or dinners in store for us). Then we set off to enjoy the beautiful weather.
And boy was it beautiful. It was one of the very first days of spring that we have had all year. And, always looking at the bright side, the delayed spring that had so irked me for the past several weeks meant that on May 8 the cherry blossoms were out in full force — and I love cherry blossoms.
My love affair with cherry blossoms started late. I’m not sure I even knew cherry blossoms bloomed outside Japan before the spring of 2006, my first spring living in Vancouver. I remember that spring like it was yesterday, I vividly recall wandering the streets aimlessly, starting in wonder at the white and pink eruption that had taken over the city. Those who know me know I miss Vancouver dearly, and last Sunday I felt as though, just for a minute, I got a piece of it back.