April is the cruelest month

When I first moved here from the northern suburbs of New York City (having spent nearly every summer and the previous four years in Massachusetts), the first thing I noticed was how much earlier spring came (I also couldn’t figure out how people could tell it was humid – it seemed to be a sense I didn’t have – but Philadelphia quickly arranged a crash course, which is why, three decades later, I was finally talking to the air conditioning man in my kitchen).

Well, not this year. Doesn’t it look like the cherry tree is crying?

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