Shutter Speed

After the school run, you stop at the park. The cherry blossoms are in bloom and you want to take some photos.

(You’ve been meaning to come for days. Why haven’t you come before?)

The park is quiet; commuters and students already at their desks. You stand alone under pink and white blossoms, watch stray petals drift from branch to ground. Petal-rain, petal-kisses.

(Why haven’t you come before?)

You don’t always like city parks. You prefer nature wild and rugged: an antidote to the confines of suburbia.

But you’re drawn to this park every spring, to its loping line of cherry blossoms. There’s something so delicate about the cherry blossoms. You want to hold your breath, tiptoe.

An elderly couple walk past you. The woman is reminiscing about the last time they were here. The man nods his head companionably.

You think they should have the cherry blossoms to themselves…