i love it when the blossoms fall like pink snow and lie mounded by the edge of the road (that's when it's dry out, not soggy with rain) I remember a lovely story about a man who scooped up a cup of cherry blossoms and brought them home to his young daughter (by Bill Kinsella, a Canadian writer, best known for "Field of Dreams")
i love it when the blossoms fall like pink snow and lie mounded by the edge of the road (that's when it's dry out, not soggy with rain) I remember a lovely story about a man who scooped up a cup of cherry blossoms and brought them home to his young daughter (by Bill Kinsella, a Canadian writer, best known for "Field of Dreams")
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