the tree

There's this tree around the corner. It is in full bloom. The blossoms are pink and drippy. The flowers don't smell like much, but they are so very pink, they don't need to.

The blooms are clustered like miniature bouquets up and down the branches. Every few inches, there is another puff.

It was the night before the last day of classes. The fridge was stocked with spinach quiche and salad and pears; instead, we had voted for pizza. The pizza place is around the corner, and on my walk, I found the tree. The sun was setting, and the sky was that sort of blue you tend to forget about during the winter.

The tree is in front of an empty house. The house is for sale. The shades on the first floor are open, and no one can say that out their front living room window is a wall of pink.

If you were here, I would make you stand under this tree with me. You might feel silly, but then you would stand right next to the trunk and look up, and the sun would be setting, and in your arms the pizza box would be warm, and the tree would win.