The Happy/Sad Floating World

A few days ago I took a long walk that started at the beach. After a few hours of following no particular path, I ended up in a large meadow next to the highway. If I had not strayed from the path and scrambled along the edge of the emergency lane into what was almost certainly private property (though there were no “no trespassing” signs posted), I would have never hopped down the steep bank where I found this:

I had chanced upon a cherry tree in the middle of nowhere, and it was in full bloom despite its dire situation.

Cherry blossoms are not long-lived, and it’s partially because of their fleeting beauty that many people look forward to the season when they start to open. On the slope, surrounded by eucalyptus trees, poison oak, and dull colored scrub, it would have been impossible to miss.

The trunk was snapped, like a matchstick, at a 90 degree angle. It was impossible to see from the road, and since there was no footpath, its flowers were not likely to be seen by anyone who passed it by. I found it amazing that this tree, which appeared to have been broken a while ago (the splintered trunk was brown and dried out, with only a tenuous patch of fiber connecting the fallen portion of tree to the trunk), was able to flower despite being fatally injured.
It made me sad that no one would probably ever see this tree, or witness its last death-defying act of beauty. I regretted not having packed any food or drink to enjoy in its company, as I so often had under so many different cherry trees with so many different people when I was living in Japan.

The hike back to my car was long and the wind conspired to pull away all of the petals from the branch that I took. The branch, it turned out, was stronger than I thought and made it home safely.
And so, with this branch, I was able to enjoy hanami in my apartment this year. We dined on tuna melts (with croissants) and sparkling fruit juice. To someone who doesn’t count any specific residence as their home it made the apartment feel familiar in a way not too different from nostalgia (How the hell do you translate natsukashii in this context?).

I was amazed, but the branch was still obstinately clinging on to its blossoms the next day at dawn. I had wanted to take pictures of the branch the day before, but had run out of daylight. These are the shots that I came away with at Lover’s Point.



The twig was with me for only a couple of days, but during those days I had some good times enjoying the cherry blossoms.
A fallen, dying tree puts all of its remaining energy into blooming one last time, though no one will see it. Against all odds, the right person finds it and enjoys this last beautiful act. Though the tree dies, it is fondly remembered, tied into happy memories of the past.
Sound familiar?