"Do you think it's dead?" I asked.

All the other trees on the block had already bloomed, their tiny pink buds in neat rows along the branches. Ours stood empty, bare, looking cold in the spring sun.

"No," he said and pointed to a small nub on one of the branches, which up close you could see was a greyish red, almost blending in with the stem.

Today I went back out and the bud was already a small flower and next to it, more buds.

It's alive.