She kept a sharp eye on the weather forecast, dreading the arrival of storm Floris. Not because of the risk to her fences. She had reinforced those last year.
It was the risk to her cherry trees, heavy with blossom, their vivid pinks almost unnaturally bright. They filled her heart with joy.
The morning the storm hit, her daughter called from the garden.
“Mama! It’s raining confetti!”
She ran outside to see her daughter standing beneath the trees, her hair whipping around her face and her arms stretched wide as petals decorated every part of her.
Her heart swelled.
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