When I went outside to check the mail earlier this afternoon (there was none), I noticed that our peach tree was already beginning to blossom. The weather has alternated between cool, damp, warm, and breezy, in varying combinations, and it is nearly March, but somehow it seems wrong for a fruit tree to be in bloom quite so often. I’m concerned we might still have a few cold nights in our future, and the blossoms will die before fruit can really start.

Actual peaches or not, however, the pale pink blossoms against the gray sky always catch my attention. I know that the best camera for any snapshot is the one you have with you, and I did have my phone handy to snap the long skinny picture in this post (click on it to see it full-sized), but I wish that I had a better eye, or about eight inches more height, for a better angle.

But that was earlier. And now it’s too dark to see, and I’m sitting on my bed with the windows wide open, listening to the wind in the trees, gusting in harmony with the gentle, sleeping breathing of my dogs. Max is the bass note, with his breath deep and a little rumbly. Cleo is our mezzo-soprano, and her breath is more rapid. And Perry, tiny Perry, is our boy treble in sleep just as he is when awake (he is the only dog I’ve ever owned who YIPS instead of BARKS).

And the wind ties it all together.

The beautiful, balmy, comforting wind.

If I concentrate, my imagination adds in the soft scent of peaches.