For a thousand years, Sakura have inspired poetry, art, music, and reflection about love, beauty, and the passage of time.
They reminded me of my old apricot tree in New Mexico, United States. Every spring, it offered up its own show of flower blossoms. The tree stood out as an oasis of life in the desert, gathering hundreds of fuzzy, yellow bees until its branches hummed like a power line. I imagined them traveling the treeless, dry desert, so tired and thirsty, and then their little sighs of relief as they finally settled among the sweet flowers, out of the sun and sucking spring nectar. That short little tree in our quiet little town was my childhood universe. I would look up at the blossoms and the bees, like a blanket of scented cotton candy or popcorn. And as sleep crept on the desert, hazy orange filtered through the pale petals, and they became a shroud of stars against the twilight.
The trees were magical, and yet in two weeks they would be green, and already petals were falling like snow. I contemplated the past and changing future, and of parting with this once-in-a-lifetime experience, and of all the people I met. But now, I was in a crowd of smiles. Small children in small backpacks were running atop grass dotted pink.
As I grew older, our apricot tree seemed to shrink year after year, losing branches and blossoms and fruit. And yet, every spring it tried again and again. As soon as winter softened its grasp, it performed its seasonal song once more. Some years, no bees would come; some years, a cold snap would crush its blossoms. But there were also years where its blossoms appeared wilted and sparse, only for its branches to erupt with green and the ground to be blanketed in orange sweet fruits.
