Last weekend I traveled to Washington, DC to perform with the All-Star Tap Team in the National Cherry Blossom Festival parade. It was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time, but I returned relatively unscathed, notwithstanding the rather large blister that bloodied up my poor tap shoe.
After the parade, I hobbled around with my camera to see what was left of the blooms. Despite missing them at their peak, there were still a handful of trees with their branches gracing the sky with explosions of color.
These are just a few of my favorites.
I also wanted to share a favorite poem of mine by A.E. Housman from A Shropshire Lad. I think of this every time I visit Washington in the spring.
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.