Oh, St. Louis. Every time I start to think you are a horrible and evil place filled with unchecked racism and burning piles of nuclear waste, you do something so wonderfully magical that I fall in love with you all over again. This time it was trees. Flowering trees actually, Bradford Pear trees to be exact. If you missed the explosion of white blooms gently waving in the soft kisses of spring breezes, then you are a recluse in dangerous need of getting out more. Please, please just look out the window for pity's sake.
I need not remind you how brutal our recently concluded winter is, nor shall I waste any additional keystrokes complaining about how cold it was or how many times I fell down. With the exception of the previous sentence, and it was three times. My left hip is still sore sometimes. Curse you black ice and poor footwear choices! But I digress once again for this is not the topic at hand. The topic is how gorgeous the Lou was this weekend.