By CRISTOFF ZAVALA
Pink petals gently falling, the sweet fragrance of flowers tenderly infusing the air;
Only in the spring do the Sakura trees flourish for they are rare.
A season longed by some individuals, a time when the sun shines so bright.
The frigid months of winter, followed by the warmth brought upon by the Tree of Life.
How many times have the cherry blossoms become reality, sprouting their true colors?
Too many to comprehend, a beginning to all of those warm months ahead.
The birth and the end.
Each blossom is a symbol of life – it blooms, it grows, and it eventually dies;
But its delicate beauty lingers by and by.
The brevity of each bud’s fluorescence,
The intensity of each and every shade is the very definition of life.
Generations have passed under the Sakura,
The brief blooming of the blossom representing a life lived meaningfully,
Not just a single soul, but thousands upon thousands living peacefully
Cherry blossoms are the signs of age,
The Sakura is the flow of time,
The seasons passing as swiftly as they came.
The endless flux of hours,
The countless days,
The neverending cherry blossom flowers.
The ephemeral allure of the Sakura, lasting until the end of time.