Sakura

I went on a brief trip to Kyoto last weekend and returned to find Utsunomiya in bloom. The Japanese call the soft pink, yellow, and white flowers that drip from the springtime bowers sakura, which means cherry blossom. Now, the avenues that line the city’s streets and parks are framed in these springtime flowers, and the air is heavy with the moisture of afternoon rainstorms and the heady sweet aroma of the blossoms. But the flowered streets and perfumed air will only last for a short time before the petals fall away to accommodate a more lasting life; I live in an ephemeral garden.

The pleasant outdoor atmosphere has inspired me to wander the winding limestone-walled streets of my antiqued neighborhood, taking special pleasure in meandering at an impractical lazy saunter. My companions on these walks are the giant crows who perch on the lichen and moss-carpeted walls dividing the landscaped gardens. They are mostly silent, but sometimes cry out to me, as if disturbed to see they are not the only ones studying the city. For my part, I do my best to ignore them, and try not to allow myself to be jostled by their sharp cries cutting through the eventide fog.

I read a news article this morning about 450 Somali and Ethiopian refugees who were thrown off their ship by their smugglers as they tried to make safe passage to Yemen. The smugglers forced the people to jump into the ocean after they noticed Yemeni security forces and wanted to make a quick get-away. Those who resisted where beat, punched, and stabbed with wood and steel batons, then they, too, were thrown into the ocean. 29 people are confirmed dead and 71 are still missing.

Life is suddenly quiet here, dampened by the absorbent clouds and flower petals, drugged by sweet perfume and echoing with the memories of a year already one quarter past. The Japanese academic year ended last week, and my office is now shuffling to rearrange desks, responsibilities, and staff in preparation for the new term, which begins in two weeks. I am left to sit idly at my desk and stare out the window into the courtyard, where a giant sakura tree is unfolding tiny bright pink blossoms. I wonder if the color is made more vivid by the watery grey sky.