I Can't Find My Garden

My daughter and I sat outside and had lunch under the cherry blossom on Sunday. Two days later the table and chairs are covered in cherry dandruff and I can't even find some of my smaller seedlings, buried under the thousands of petals that coat the perennial bed. Even walking around is hazardous as layers of squished petals build up on the soles of my shoes. The dramatic transformation of my garden is just another form of beauty, as spectacular as the earlier blossoms, but a little more melancholy, as with all things that mark passage and the end of something.