CHERRY MOODS

Yesterday was a day off, and when I walked out into the garden in the early morning the cherry tree was like a different person, it was so polite and considerate in its pinkly fluent majesty-- not a trace of irony anywhere in its blossomy mannerisms or the gestures of its elegant limbs; its perfume even had my name on it.

As I worked in the garden in the rich morning air the tree's blossom-clad limbs hovered over me considerately, shading me from the sun, the entire tree emanating a magical light blended effortlessly from the basic materials of sun and blue sky-- it made working in the garden even more of a pleasure than usual.

But then this morning, when again I had to head downmountain and off to work in the Big City, as I passed through the village the arcade of blooming cherry trees that lines the road to the station looked pretty flippant, flaunting their whole roadful of perfumed beauty in the same saucy and ironic way they had on Tuesday.

The cherries have really been moody lately. Either that or the mere prospect of an office can warp reality.