Time to forget about politics tonight and think about something more uplifting: flowers and blossoms.
The blossoms pass so quickly. Cherries are already forming on the tree that was a froth of white only a month ago. The blossom petals were shaken by the winds, carpeting the grass like confetti.
The grass, lazy and dormant in the winter sprang to life, revealing itself as a country meadow of buttercups and daisies.
My neighbour Carol’s lilac tree overhangs the pavement in a vibrant burst.
Walking in the park on Sunday, there was a horse chestnut tree with pink candelabrum. The wind made them dance and difficult to photograph, a perennial problem I find with spring flowers that biob and weave in front of the lens.
Ceanothus, in all the hues of blue to purple thrust out of urban gardens into the street.
And above them all, the statue of the cat on the gable on the block of flats overlooks the coming and goings.