Pink

Each spring, I usually make my way to D.C. to see the cherry blossoms. It started when I was a kid. My family would drive down from New York, my cousins from Michigan, and we’d hope to catch them at their peak — though, we rarely did.

In my 20s, I’d stay up all night with friends. We’d walk to the Tidal Basin on the empty streets and watch the pink dawn rise over pink clouds of blossoms. Sublime. Usually a bit too cold. Always worth it.

Later, we began bringing kids. The picnics got more elaborate — bagels, fifteen different toppings, champagne in thermoses. We’d stretch out on blankets for hours, laughing and lingering.

This year, I found spring elsewhere. A glimpse of blossoms on the High Line in New York. Smaller show. Still beautiful. Combined with visits with beloved friends and family.

On the way home, we stopped at Branch Brook Park in Newark, NJ — home to more cherry trees than anywhere else in the country. They were just beginning to bloom. Pretty, but not as enchanting as D.C.’s tidal basin.

Really, one blossom is enough to enchant me.

I hope spring is finding you too — in big ways, in small ways — reminding you that beautiful things bloom, whether we go out of our way to notice or not.