Jonathan P.D. Buckley

A Turning Day

Friday April 8: It was a week of sunshine that brought out all the blossom and it hung in great clumps; heavy, pink and secure in the trees that lined the road from Dulwich Village. The day was warm and just a gentle breeze stirred the many million petals. Trees stood in various stages of undress. I noticed the conker was fully clad, green with its flowers preparing to emerge, white and pink from the green sepals. The silver birch had just a delicate spray of green, dusting over its white trunk and branches. The oak was similarly daubed. And as the week came to an end, the sun sank on an even arc to cast shadows across a golden day that recalled those special days of youth. And so people came out to play; women in their summer dresses, boys in their shorts, the whole world was in the air, spring was in the air. It was beautiful.

As evening falls
The blossom bobs gently
Into the dark