The backyard lilac bush has little green tips but the cherry isn't even thinking about leaves, let alone blossoms.
Indoors my bedroom bookshelves need attending to, given the curtains of dust that rise whenever I move anything on them. At some point I put a bunch of promising-looking BL manga there, from the treasure trove of 2003, to be read whenever I felt like a BL fix. At least, I assume that's why they were there. But I flipped through half a dozen of them yesterday and found them the blandest yaoi LCD; I mean, several were quite explicit but they were still all the oldest tropes drawn in the most unexciting of styles. Five went straight into the recycle. Only the one about the psychic kid who manipulates politicians stayed, because I kind of want to see how you do BL with that. If it segues into shota, I'll let you know.
And oh the relief of not having them there any more, and being able to throw them away without repining. Never mind the Buddhist kleshas: it's books that bind the soul.