Spring in Japan means cherry blossoms, and that means hanami (cherry blossom viewing). Typically hanami is with a large group, but it’s just as much (or even more) fun to go alone. Maybe in Japanese that would be hitorihanami...
As I left for Tsukumi last week most of the cherry trees along the way had passed their peak in the two- or three-week blooming season. Even so, there’s still something enchanting in that delicate hue that balances precariously between pink and pure white. It’s an unexpected sort of enchantment. Plenty of other trees bloom in a variety of shades and tints. But none are quite like sakura. Whether alone on a mountainside or arranged in stately rows along a river, Japan’s cherry trees are not easily tired of.
Perhaps the most unusual and beautifully fascinating aspect of sakura is the manner in which they release their flowers at the end of the season. On Thursday morning I had a prime seat for this event in a small park in Tsukumi. After walking around much of central Tsukumi I sat down for a respite with a can of Emerald Mountain Blend coffee and freshly baked melon bread. Across the street a lively conversation outside a local produce market mixed with the chirps and twitters of morning songbirds. From the east a light breeze wafted in, both cooling and providing a catalyst for the morning spectacle. All around cherry blossom petals fell, twirling, pressed by the wind into random arrangements on the ground where low currents swept them along in wavy billows.
A picture would not do the scene justice, for you would miss the fragile dancing motion. Nor would a video do, for you would miss the sensation of being entwined with the scenery, of the wind and petals on and around you. In person is the only proper way I can think of to experience hanami. And with my departure looming ever closer, I sometimes wonder how long it will be before I can see cherry blossoms in Japan again.