April 7th, 2002


(no subject)

I dreamt, last night, of the yoshino cherry trees, of the blossomd silver and the song and the low-arching grayed sky, of walking along the red brick paths to the center of the quad, lifting my face to the wind and the drifting petals and the scent. The wind whips my hair, the same almost-glowing silver as the petals, about my face. The silver and the almost-sweet smell and the timelessness pour into my mind, and I dissolve suddenly into a shower of petals, bourne through the branches and along the paths and against the windows of buildings by the singing wind.
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