In our front yard stood a cherry blossom tree that was magical. Its bloom was always brief, sweet and dazzling, often cut short by spring rainstorms that left the grass carpeted in soft pink petals. Many years, we gathered beneath its bright pink blossoms for a family film or photographs. I can still remember the fragrance drifting through the air. Even raking up the fallen petals became part of the ritual, a shared moment of fun, play and care, while the tree stood waiting, ready to welcome us again the following spring.