There was a little old man with white hair and a cardigan over his collared plaid shirt. He walked alone under the trees. He stopped for a moment, tilted his head upwards and took a moment to breath in the blossoms. The sun danced on his rosy cheeks, he leaned on his cane. He would take a few steps and do it again and again. There was no hurry. There were no worries. There was only the little man simply enjoying the blossom-filled air.
Why don't I do that a little more often? The trees bud. The trees bloom. The leaves turn. Trying to make us happy.
And sometimes nobody notices.