The plum blossoms are at their peak, spilling over the yard like a breaking wave. I read once somewhere that Native American peoples named months -- called "moons" in their lunar-based calendar -- after the most important natural feature of the season. I always think of March as the Moon of Plum Blossom Rain. The neighborhood sidewalks are covered with the litter of petals, pink and white, and the backyard is decorated with white confetti floating through the air and landing everywhere.
They float over the garden paths, thick with blooming forget-me-nots.
They drift past the surprise crocus. (Several years ago I planted some in the two clay herb bowls that R. gave me. They never bloomed after the first year. H. showed me how to do close-ups with my camera but the batteries ran out and I wasn't able to capture the open blossom with its yellow center, welcoming the day. Nice close-up though!)
Many plum petals land on the arugula and have to be picked off during salad making. The arugula blossoms, which look like jeweled Celtic crosses, don't fall off but stay where they are, perhaps to stay as beautiful as possible for as long as possible.
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