***

The cherry blossom festival began yesterday. We decided to go early, since last year we were too late and missed the blossoms.

It was very crowded, yet the atmosphere was not tense or unpleasant, even with all those people. The sight of the blossoming trees -- the dark, knobby trunks contrasting so strikingly with the delicate white flowers -- is deeply moving. You almost can't help feeling tranquil and happy.

The trees circle the Tidal Basin, and many of the flowering branches lean down to the water, while pairs of ducks swim by and, farther out, families pedal around in boats. Young couples are everywhere, stopping to take photos of each other. A woman is photographing her friend, urges her to climb up into the branches. "Go on! Climb up! Like a monkey!"

There are five of us: me, my wife, my mother-in-law, almost four-year-old Michael, and Heidi, who is fast asleep.

As we're walking along, I notice a monk in orange robes is behind me, talking animatedly with another young man in plain clothes. I listen attentively, trying to figure out what language they are speaking. Maybe Vietnamese...

Then they switch to English, and I realize they are talking about Michael, who is perched on my shoulders making loud "meow meow" noises.