through the open windows. The scent of the sakura trees
in the front garden wafted in, stirred by the movement of
the wind, through my room. Their delicate perfume
soothed my senses. They have always had such an effect
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
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