THE FRONT

Slowly and relentlessly the front advances to capture the nation, edging ever closer toward abject populations that await on the tenderest of tenterhooks as silently the edge draws nearer, marching steadily forward across the terrain on the quietest of feet - nothing can stop it - not that anyone wants to, for any day now it will engulf us each and every one in its delicate effusion, washing over us in a tidal wave of implacable pinkness, a nationwide lava flow of tiny petals, a torrent of ever-so-softness frittering down over folks who can only sit vanquished on blankets on the grass in the parks beneath the unstoppable vanguard, eating their bento and drinking their sake even unto the end, dancing their delight to the continuous music inspired by the ruthless beauty of the sakurazensen (Cherry Blossom Front), which will soon conquer this entire nation, overcoming its grateful populace in the subtlest of pastels and the most passionate moments of florid camaraderie you ever saw, when everywhere the air will be floral with fluttering sighs, and tears will fall like pale pink petals at the passing of this brief beauty everyone embraces but none can hold on to, as the transient vanquisher moves on to its next new conquest about a year from now.