on me , even as a child growing up in Japan . I tenderly inhaled their pale fragrance , allowing my mind to wander back in time for a moment .
Hundreds of people walked along the banks of Sumidagawa , its deep waters flowing lazily by , as they attended one sakura blossom viewing party or another . It was mid-April of 1797 and the prominent men of Edo were holding parties to celebrate the blooming of the cherry blossoms . Of course , they did this every year all over Japan ; paying homage to the sakura tree , which was seen as a symbol of the human life cycle on earth – short but magnificent . I was with my father on a bright and glorious afternoon enjoying the subtle pinks and whites of the petals which made the trees look like fluffy pastel clouds of sweetness .
Being barely ten years old , I didn ’ t much understand why the sakura trees were so important ; I only cared about the kakigōri vendors selling my favorites iced treats : green tea and apricot . It was like a bowl of snow with sweet fruit syrup covering it . To me , it was the taste of a warm spring day mixed with all the happiness of childhood one could imagine .
Father had always walked with me along the Sumidagawa during the sakura festivals and we would share both kinds of kakigōri as we enjoyed the beauty of the day . My favorite thing to see – besides the sweet-ice vendor carts – were the geisha who would come out during the viewings , flitting from one party to the next like fragile butterflies , dressed in their finest silks and looking beautiful beyond compare .
I looked up at my father after passing several of these striking geisha , “ One day I will become a geisha just like them . That is what I want to be , Father .”
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