Jogging into work this morning, it was damp and gray, but somehow the rain held off until the last few blocks before I reached my office. Fish & Bird played in my earphones: “every whisper is a shout across the void”. There was a hint of bright light on the western skyline. And blossoms, blossoms all along the way. For a moment or two, everything was just fine. Was it just the endorphins? Or maybe a hint of A E Housman:
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
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