Sakura trees get a lot of praise and adulation in Japan, and it's easy to see why. Pictures can't capture the true majesty of a row of sakura trees heavy with blossoms, and it's near impossible to try to describe their intoxicating scent. For about two weeks in spring, Japanese social outings revolve around the life span of the cherry blossom, for good reason: walking down a sakura lane can't be much different from walking in paradise.A very crowded paradise in some places, but a sweet-smelling and magical paradise nonetheless.
The act of viewing cherry blossoms is called hanami, which actually translates to "flower viewing" but seems to be reserved for sakura only. The basic purpose of hanami is to sit and look at blossoms. However, you don't just sit and look at blossoms - you also eat crazy festival foods, drink until your heart's content (or stomach's discontent, whichever hits you first), and hang out with your compadres. And should there be a karaoke machine just standing around and waiting for you to take the mike, then so much the better.
I saw a good amount of sakura this spring, and while I'm sorry that its season is so short-lived, I realize it's probably for the best. Society can only take so much sitting around and drinking before it starts to collapse. But the progression of the blossoms' lives is astounding. Sakura are only fully open for a very short time - they die quickly, sloughing down from the trees in pink and white waves. But they leave the sakura tree draped in a rich green canopy, the color of which is so vivid that it's a miracle in itself. I loved the blossoms, but the green leaves enamored me. Walking down sakura lanes became akin to walking through a hallway lined in velvet, so deep and lush that I lost track of the time as I stood and stared at the leaves. These leaves are what pushes the blossoms loose from the tree, breaking their tenuous hold on life, and I'm glad for it. They're not so pretty and cute, but they're stronger and more vibrant, lasting longer than the delicate flowers that let go of life just when it's beginning.
I saw a good amount of sakura this spring, and while I'm sorry that its season is so short-lived, I realize it's probably for the best. Society can only take so much sitting around and drinking before it starts to collapse. But the progression of the blossoms' lives is astounding. Sakura are only fully open for a very short time - they die quickly, sloughing down from the trees in pink and white waves. But they leave the sakura tree draped in a rich green canopy, the color of which is so vivid that it's a miracle in itself. I loved the blossoms, but the green leaves enamored me. Walking down sakura lanes became akin to walking through a hallway lined in velvet, so deep and lush that I lost track of the time as I stood and stared at the leaves. These leaves are what pushes the blossoms loose from the tree, breaking their tenuous hold on life, and I'm glad for it. They're not so pretty and cute, but they're stronger and more vibrant, lasting longer than the delicate flowers that let go of life just when it's beginning.
It's become a standard cliche - sakura blossoms trembling in the wind before separating from their branches, floating like airy boats before coming to a gentle rest on the ground - but it works because the experience is so moving. It's no wonder that sakura is a metaphor for life: so beautiful and brief, beginning with such great promise and ending with such swiftness, culminating in a bittersweet momento mori.
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