““The cherry trees are disconsolate lovers; they can't hold their pink smiles after the unkindness of that night. The wind here is straight from Chicago - it will snap you unless you bend. The news from far-off money towns is the clamor of falling towers. Yet my woolly dog is happy chasing a well-chewed stick and a wet spaniel, a green-headed duck is talking quarks with a brown-headed duck on the lake shore, and my friend is reading poems of spring in a language she knows only in dreams. The wild cherries will bloom again.””
