We have waited a long time for this Spring. But at last -- and worth every second of the wait -- the past few days have been heavenly, blissful, and buoyant. I skipped work early on Sunday so we could make a family trip downtown for malts. The girls came away smeared every which way by chocolate ice cream, the telltale sign of an indulgence duly appreciated. We are throwing open the windows and doors, feeling the breeze lift the hair on our arms, soaking up sun at the park, watching sparrows mate. I'm drinking iced coffee like I never want to sleep again. But of all the rituals Spring brings, what I most look forward to is standing below this magnificent tree. It belongs to our neighbors two doors down, and we can see it from our bedroom window. Yesterday, the blossoms finally fully opened, showing off the palest pinks at the tips of their petals down to their fuschia hearts, their glory explosive and magnetizing. The peak is so fleeting and so precious for that. Already this morning, the ground below is covered in a carpet of velvety pink. Josh saw a little girl walking to school, backpack and all, tiptoeing gingerly through the petals on the sidewalk. The image brought tears to my eyes. That's reverence, all right, and exactly how all of us should walk through the world in Spring. On tiptoe, and in love.