Declaration of Extension
I'm bored of transience. Tired of the petal specialists who arrive at the park on a brilliant Spring day and declare, "We missed it. The absolute peak must have been three days ago." All boys, of course, must be 17. After that it's all downhill. Age 26 they are already deep in mourning. How dull. The petal specialists would do well to die when hedonists did in olden times, aged approximately 35.
As for me, sorry, but I am going to need an extension. You can have one too. Regardless of the state of your petals. Hell, you can be dropping leaves for all I care. The petal specialists can have their one day in April. (Good luck with teenage boys!) We'll roll out our blanket and stay all year round.
This is an all-weather picnic. Bring layers.