Instead of blossom there is rain.
My mind is full of work and I am late for a dinner. I am not here, but back and over there, somewhere, all over the places in my head. I turn a corner on my bike. I slip and fall.
My head, shoulder and knee on the street, my high heels under the wheels, my thigh in a puddle. I am the kind of person who wants to get up fast. I try for a second and for once I think: whatever. Let me just sit here hurting.
But two hands lift me up, other arms support me, a friendly freckled face says she’ll get me something sweet to drink. I say there’s no need. She insists I sit down. I say I’m late already. Another voice asks if I’m alright. I say I am. And someone else picks up my bike, straightens it and holds it while they all make me sit.
And then they leave.
New strange faces walk past. I am just a woman who pauzes to sit down for a moment after a busy day at work, shelters from the rain.
There are always people who help you when you fall. Often, it’s the ones farthest away.