The unseasonably warm weather of yesterday plied open most of the cherry blossoms in my front yard. Followed by gusting winds, petals have loosened and are now falling in silence without a hint of breeze. I cannot help thinking of a poem by Ono no Komachi, a Japanese poet from the 800s (translation is by Clay MacCauley).
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Color of the flower
Has already faded away,
While in idle thoughts
My life passes vainly by,
As I watch the long rains fall.
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Komachi is a legendary figure who set the standard for feminine beauty for the following 1100 years in Japan (the word Komachi is still used to describe regional delicacies and products, sometimes local celebrities). Cherry is a national flower/tree in Japan, and you would know it if you visited there in spring. The whole country, even the urban centers, are transformed for a week or so. All the ugly gray is enveloped in clouds of pale pink, softening the tired souls of hard working corporate soldiers. We anticipate this magical period eagerly; untimely rain and wind spoil our pleasure and force us to wait another year.
The sight of falling petals is both exhilarating and agitating. In a few days, they will come down like a warm, soft pink blizzard. It is visually breathtaking, but makes me feel helpless against the tide of time. Will I ever be wise enough to just focus on the moment and appreciate it?
Perhaps growing up in Japan has instilled in me a deep rooted fatalism which is the flip side of being connected to nature. If Westerners use Christmas as an opportunity to reflect on the passing year, it is the cherry blossom season for the Japanese to ask, not "what have I done?" but "what has the year done to/for me?"
11:49:10 AM 
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