Such beautiful cherry blossoms can only be seen here.

Monday, February 24, 2025, Light rain turning sunny When I opened the window in the morning, the mailbox downstairs was covered with cherry blossom dew. The weather forecast on my phone said there would be brief spring rain today, so I deliberately put on a light gray knitted cardigan before going out—I heard that the cherry blossoms in Kunming in early spring always carry a hint of mist-like clarity. The jacaranda trees on Wenlin Street were still adorned with fading purple. As I turned into the east gate of Green Lake Park, a burst of moist sweetness suddenly surged towards me. From afar, the north bank, shaded by weeping willows, looked as if a deity had overturned a can of pink and white paint. The branches were crowded with dense flower buds, and as the wind blew, a few petals fluttered down, landing perfectly in the hair of a young girl holding a transparent umbrella. I rented a tandem bicycle and rode along the lake. The tires made a soft crunching sound as they rolled over the newly paved cobblestone path. The cherry blossoms on Gull Island were the most enchanting, with layers of pink and white petals clustered on the branches. Under the trees were students sketching and photography enthusiasts with their cameras. A girl in a Hanfu dress squatted at the roots of a tree, sketching. Her vermilion skirt spread out, blending with the fallen flowers on the ground, forming a flowing cloud of rosy hues. As I turned to the west bank, the drizzle intensified, and I took shelter in an old teahouse by the road. On the wooden table sat a celadon teacup, and two complete cherry blossoms floated in the Pu'er tea. The owner said they were freshly picked this morning, and the petals would slowly unfurl after being steeped. Through the carved wooden window, I looked out at the lake. In the hazy rain, a few egrets skimmed over the water, their wings stirring the sleeping ripples, swirling and breaking the reflected cherry blossoms into shimmering stars. After the rain stopped, the sun suddenly burst through the clouds, and the entire lakeside lit up like lanterns. Colorful picnic blankets were spread out under the cherry blossom trees. A silver-haired old man wove a cherry blossom wreath for his granddaughter. An elderly lady in Xiangyunsha sat on a bench shelling edamame. Under the wisteria trellis, someone played a sanxian, the notes mingling with the whispers of flower petals in the wind. When I reached the former site of Guanyu Tower, the copper bells on the eaves chimed without a breeze, startling two grey magpies that were pecking for food. They flapped their wings, flew over the golden ginkgo leaves, and scattered the freshly fallen, snow-like petals into the sky. As dusk settled, I deliberately took a detour to the south gate. The sunset glow dyed the cherry blossoms amber. An old man selling sugar paintings was packing up his stall, the melted sugar syrup flowing into the shape of a phoenix on the iron plate. The aroma of fried potatoes wafted from a nearby snack stall. I sat on a bench with a glass of rose salt lemonade, watching the last few stubborn petals clinging to the weeping willow branches. The sound of joggers and the laughter of children chasing each other came from afar. I suddenly felt that the heartbeat of this city was hidden in the folds of this spring light. On my way home, I passed by the flower market. An old woman selling cherry blossom branches was trimming them. The branches, slanted in a bamboo basket, still had a few undried water droplets. I thought that if I could take a branch home and put it in a white porcelain vase, perhaps I could capture today's spring scenery in the dim light of dusk.