Sakurapalooza
Landing here as we did in the barren stick season of frigid early February, we've been eagerly awaiting Spring, and with it the legendary sakura (cherry blossoms) that attract nearly 4 million tourists each year to Japan. And you know me. I like trees. I like flowers. I was ready to see and appreciate some seasonal beauty, replete with allegorical meaning about the fleeting transience of life and whatnot. But deep down, I really didn't expect it to be qualitatively different from the signs of Spring I see each year. Let's cut to the chase -- the show is spectacular, a rare instance of something not just living up to but arguably surpassing the hype. From a landscape of ancient, dead-looking, sculptural trunks, there erupts an unabashed riot of white cream pale pink red blooms, covering the branches like weightless snow, looking somehow as if lit from within. I understand now why these flowers have been the objects of admiration, art, and poetry for thousands of years. ...
