|PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright Janet Webb|
When growing up, I watched my mother wield a large pair of clippers and go at the Cherry Blossoms that edged our yard. She would fill a vase with warm water and dunk the spindly branches with buds that were still tight.
Within a week we would witness the unfurling with an unbounded joy that still stays with me.
In the first year without her, an unseasonal storm left us carpeted under snow. When it was over I ventured outside with the clippers in my hand.