The cherry blossoms are at their peak, so pale that they barely earn the right to be called pink. They fancy up the grounds of all the stark white marble monuments and edge the Tidal Basin, bending over gracefully, as if to admire their own reflections. I wandered under the canopy of blossoms and came to a spot where the water had just begun a small trickle of overflow onto the walkway. At the lowest point, the walkway disappeared beneath several inches of water. Not only was it high tide, but the moon was full. Benches became islands and tourists took off their flip flops to wade along the submerged path. Heading back to where the path was only partly flooded, I watched this little boy. Who cares about fluffy flowers or scenic views when there is water for splashing?