My cherry tree is in bloom again. I say ‘my’ but it doesn’t belong to me. It’s situated on the street just in front of my house and I must look at it at least thirty to forty times a day through my window while I’m resting my eyes from my computer screen. In winter, its just bare branches and for most of the summer its leaves are a quiet dark green but, at this time of the year, it literally bursts into blossom.

I know that its luscious pinky-red blooms will soon fade but, for me, this is the true start to the new year when life on our beautiful planet wakes itself up and says goodbye to the listlessness of winter.

Despite the daily drip, drip, drip of generally bad news about bad people doing horrendous things, my cherry tree lifts me up when I look out of my window. It is the promise of warm days, walking around in T shirt and shorts, sitting outside a coffee shop or a pub watching people go by and of brightness after the heavy dull overcast of winter.

It is also hope.