Monday, April 18, 2005


On Saturday, with the cherry trees shouting pink all over the place beneath nearly perfect blue skies, and a river of pink flowing down from the mountain where the cherry trees line the winding road up to the ski resort, that's where we went to celebrate Spring. At the top there was a taiko concert by some very talented lady drummers.

Then on Sunday, all things being the same except now the sky was perfect and with a light breeze, we walked up the mountain again, but this time with some friends who have a house further north along the Lake. The husband of the couple brought along his sanshin (the Okinawan three-stringed musical instrument that evolved into Japan’s shamisen) and played some Okinawan folk songs (I love Okinawan folks songs!) as we walked up the mountain road beneath the scented pink canopy to the top where there was very fine Okinawan music playing on the stage among the cherry trees.

Today, Monday, as the first of the cherry petals begin to fall like tremulous sparks from a living flame, the loss of each petal infinitessimally diminishing the beauty, there comes that melancholy feeling at sight of such tender visible transience - you want them to hold on a bit longer, stay, stay where they are in such beauty... forever, even...

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