Hang out with the blossoming cherry tree for a short while each year to understand how it happened Emily Dickinson didn't travel far from home. In a blink white blossoms exploded before her eyes and she could hear the cheering stamen bunches packed inside.
She wasn't afraid when the bearded one near the big front porch whispered her name.
Her eyes were hijacked by the glowing willow; drawn to gazing until the light disappeared and then reappeared in a breeze. And she felt grateful.
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