Tag: Sakura

Yozakura

Maruyama Park, located in Kyoto’s historic Higashiyama District, was usually a prime spot for Hanami, the Japanese practice of gathering to view the blossoming of Cherry Trees in the early spring. Typically the park would be filled with people, accompanied by food stands and copious amounts of drinking.

This year, however, the park was subdued; the stands were absent, and only a few people gathered in small groups, and they didn’t linger. The COVID pandemic had hit Japan as hard as elsewhere in the world, and the current threat of mutant variants of the virus had rather put a damper on the usual Spring celebrations.

So there wasn’t really anyone around to see the woman sitting on a bench beneath the park’s famous Gion Weeping Cherry Tree. The sun was a faint suggestion of colour in the sky above the trees, and the tree was lit up by a variety of spot-lights and lanterns, the blooming cherry blossoms held in stark relief against the rapidly darkening sky.

The woman was wearing an insulated parka the colour of lavender, her hair was long and dark, flowing from beneath a woolen beret. Beside her on the bench was a pair of convenience store bags filled with a variety of food stuffs and beverages. Had the park attendants noticed her, they probably would have moved her along, but Winter was never one to be hurried.

As she sat, another young lady approached the bench. She had a round, youthful face, bright, wide eyes and hair cut almost to the scalp. If you looked closely enough, you would have sworn the remaining fuzz was the colour of green grass. She was wearing a long flowing white dress, her arms and shoulders covered with a woolen shawl. Most notably, her feet were bare.

“Hey,”

Spring hailed her sister with unusual pathos. Her normal demeanor was energetic and joyful; it was disconcerting to see her so somber.

“Well met, Sister,” Winter responded. She indicated the bench next to her and Spring slumped into it.

To say that Winter and Spring were close would be inaccurate. Despite occupying adjacent dominions in the seasonal calendar, they hardly ever saw each other. Winter was the oldest of the four; quiet, reserved, diligent in her duties. Spring, on the other hand, was the youngest, usually exuberant and hyperactive, though no less diligent.

So when Winter had summoned her out of the blue and invited her to a mini viewing party here in Kyoto, Spring was surprised, to say the least.

There was an awkward silence.

“Might I offer you a refreshment?” Winter broke the impasse, opening the bags next to her and proffering a can of beer. “I understand this to be a traditional beverage for cherry blossom viewing.”

Spring took the can without a word and cracked it, foam spurting from the top. She sucked down the froth and lent forward, elbows on knees, the dripping beer hanging from one hand.

Winter opened her own beer, being careful not to spill, and took a long draft.

The silence stretched on.

“Might I offer my congratulations? The sakura seem to be both healthy and plentiful this year.” Winter indicated the boughs of the tree above them.

“Hmm?” Spring glanced up. “Yeah. Thanks, I guess,” She took another swig of beer. “Not that it matters.”

“Oh?” Winter glanced over to her sister. “I was under the impression that you counted the Cherry Blossoms as one of your crowing achievements.”

“I guess. Whatever. Like you even care. You’re never usually awake to see them.”

Winter sat up a little, which was saying something considering she always had impeccable posture.

“Am I detecting hostility?”

““Am I detecting-“,” Spring mimicked mockingly, “Mother Earth, can’t you say anything without sounding like a, a – dang robot all the time?”

Winter’s eyes narrowed. The few patrons of the park pulled their coats about them tighter as the temperature suddenly dropped a few degrees. Spring noticed it too.

“Oh really?” She said, “You’re gonna make a scene-”

“I will not allow myself to be spoken to in that tone of voice.” Winter’s tone was even, measured, but edged with steel. “Not even by one of my kin.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Ease off will you? Not all of us brought warm jackets.”

Winter’s expression remained the same, but the air grew mild again. When she spoke, her voice was softer.

“Please, Sister. I know we are not…close. But I have sensed that you have been…withdrawn as of late. I was hoping that I could offer counsel, should you be willing to accept it.”

“Why?” Spring rolled her eyes. “When have you ever cared about what I do? You preside over the dead months, yours is the time of stasis. I’m responsible for bringing everything back to life, for getting it all moving again.” She drained her beer.

“Not that you ever make it easy!” She turned suddenly, glaring at Winter. “You always take forever to go to sleep. Just when I think I’m safe to get the daffodils blooming, you swing by with another cold snap! I’m crushed between you and Summer and it’s always a mad rush to get everything done in time!”

She grabbed another can from the bag and cracked it open with a flourish.

“It’s hard enough trying to accomplish all that, even without climate change messing everything up,” she said, “but I always thought it was worth it, y’know? Seeing all the colours, seeing all the new life bloom, seeing all the people getting excited to be living their lives again. I was proud to be the herald of a new year; it brought me profound joy to be welcoming everyone back from the darkness, to invite them on another trip around the sun. To see the life in their hearts, to see them live…” she broke off, staring off into the distance. She was breathing hard, deep, raggedy breaths.

“Spring – ” Winter started

“Winter…Winter, we lost so many. So many,” she turned to face her sister, and in the lantern light tears could be seen in Spring’s emerald eyes. “So many people never got to see another spring-rise. So many people who never got to experience another Easter, never got to witness the world coming back to life again.” She gritted her teeth as the tears began to stream down her face. “Never got to see the- the-,” she sobbed, gesturing broadly at the blossoms surrounding them, the words failing her. She balled her fists into her eyes, her shoulders heaving with grief. The can of beer clattered to the ground, its contents draining out onto the concrete.

Winter reached out a slender hand and rested it lightly on Spring’s back. The gesture was so gentle and so unlike Winter that Spring almost stopped crying from sheer shock. She sniffled as Winter, apparently as uncomfortable with physical intimacy as Spring was surprised to receive it, took her hand back, and gestured to the blossoms.

“This festival, Hanami, is about enjoying the cherry blossoms, is it not?”

Spring shook her head, mostly from confusion about the sudden tangent Winter seemed to be heading off on.

“Uh, yeah,” she sniffed, “The Sakura only bloom for a matter of days, so people come out to see them before they’re gone.” She shrugged. “I dunno, I guess someone somewhere along the line figured it was a good excuse for a party.”

“So, one could say the significance is not in the beauty of the blossoms themselves, for there are a large variety of plants blooming this time of year, each with their own intrinsic beauty,” Winter said, “but instead it lies with the fact this time is fleeting; their beauty is ephemeral, transient. It is because they only exist for so short a time, and that they use that time to live so intensely, that their very impermanence shines almost as brightly as they do themselves.”

Spring still looked confused. “I guess.”

Winter turned and smiled at her, a strangely warm smile. “Could we not also say the same about people?”

Spring, startled by the smile, said nothing.

“Their lives are short, their existence is fleeting. And yet, they take some time, of which they have so little, to appreciate the momentary beauty of a blooming flower? They make music and art and poetry dedicated to something as insubstantial as love? They live their lives brightly, passionately, bringing their own beauty into the world and to what end? To what cause? They will one day be dust and gone, but whilst they live? They live with the brightness of a thousand suns.”

She stood, and faced her sister, taking her hands into her own. Spring’s hands were rough, like the hands of a gardener. But they were warm too.

“There was nothing that we could have done to stem the losses that humanity has suffered this past year. It had nothing to do with us, as these things have never had anything to do with us, throughout human history. Their affairs are their own, as they always have been. We should not mourn their loss. Instead, we should celebrate that they were here in the first place. And bring joy and hope to those who continue to live in their place.”

A gust of wind blew through the park, shaking the branches of the trees. Thousands of tiny petals broke loose and began fluttering slowly to the ground, like snowflakes in the cool night air.

“My sister,” Winter pulled Spring to her feet. “I must apologize. You are correct in that sometimes I take longer to cede power to you than I should. You have a difficult job, perhaps the most difficult of all of us, and I do not envy you of it.” Once again, Winter smiled, and Spring found it to be strangely infectious.

“But, please,” She continued, “Never forget who you are and what you mean to the world. Never forget your pride, and your joy. Celebrate those who have been, those who are and those who have yet to come.”

Spring smiled back, and for a moment, every cherry blossom in the park shone with an unnatural vividness. The few who were present to witness it said it was if the very trees themselves were shining with light, if only for a moment.

“I…I honestly thought you didn’t care.” Spring said as they sat back on the bench.

“If I might make a confession; I do not think I did either,” Winter reached out her hand as a petal as it drifted slowly out of the air and came to rest on her palm. “But I think I am beginning to appreciate what you and our sisters see in humanity.”

Spring rummaged in the bags and pulled out two plastic containers that held a variety of food.

“Yeah, they’ll surprise you. Like the variety of food they’ve managed to come up with. Can I offer you an onigiri?”

“I would be much obliged.”

They didn’t talk much after that, but instead ate their food in silence and admired the cherry blossoms. And Spring had to admit, they really were her crowing achievement.

“We should do this every year,” Spring said as they tidied up the empty food containers.

“I think I would like that.” Winter replied. Spring beamed.

They did not hug goodbye, as it was not their custom, but lightly touched fingers to one another.

“Until next year then,” Spring said.

“Indeed. Farewell, Sister.”

“See ya.”

Even if you had been looking directly at them, you wouldn’t have registered their departure. One second they were there, the next, they weren’t. But you would have felt in your heart a strange mixture of hope and joy and been glad.

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