#260: The Blossom Tree
When change is for the better
I don’t normally pay much attention to my surroundings on my way back from Aldi, the only landmarks being a corner shop and a bingo hall. But today, burdened only by one carrier bag rather than my usual two, I looked up, and there, against a stormy blue sky, were two blossoming trees. Their petals showered me as I walked past, briefly bridal.
Blossom carries the obvious significance of spring, the changes of season and renewal. Along with the little lambs I saw at the weekend and the Easter eggs in my shopping basket, the blossom trees told me that we were definitely and finally leaving winter.
I like the shift in seasons without any particular preference for one season over the other, simply because everything about the start of a season feels new. You can fully appreciate the novelties of that time period before the longing for the next season begins. A change of season marks progression, a movement away from what has passed and towards something new. Though periods of change often make me anxious, the slow and familiar shift of seasons is nearly always welcome.
In Japan, cherry blossoms have an even greater significance than simply the change of season. Indeed, the Japanese school year begins in April, amongst the cherry blossoms, and thus the petals welcome more than just a change but a new start. In Japan, there’s a tradition of eating and drinking under the cherry trees called hanami, and while I didn’t set up a barbecue under the two trees I discovered, my heart did briefly celebrate as I passed under.
The thing with blossom, however, is that it is short-lived. As time moves progressively forward, we will eventually leave the springtime behind. The blossom will become a carpet and then disintegrate into nothing. It happens slowly though, and we will rejoice at the first beautifully green trees and forget that they were once a floral pink. Just as we will be glad at the golden brown of autumn and neglect to mourn the greens of summer. Seasons change slowly and reassuringly, and we always know the blossoms will return again. If only life were like this.
