Beneath the Cherry Blossom
“What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.”
~ Kobayashi Issa, Poems
Hanami is the Japanese tradition or practice of appreciating the transient beauty of flowers, most associated with sakura blossom, that is, cherry blossom. Here in the UK we are in lockdown as many places are. I’ve taken my work outside into the garden. It’s warm, almost summer warm and the sky is so very blue and cloudless. As I sit here I can’t help but understand the allure of Hanami; the cherry tree in full blossom, it’s branches laden with thousands of perfect creamy white flowers. Fat bumble bees drone amongst them, their soft buzzing along with the birdsong a musical accompaniment that adds to the feeling of falling under a spell. It is indeed a meditation and one that catches you unaware so alluring is the sight of the cherry blossom. Time loses meaning until you’re not sure how long you’ve spent transfixed. How long have I been lost, or rather perfectly present, noticing every flower, every sound, the atmosphere, the surroundings? Two minutes or twenty? And in the appreciation of the beauty of the cherry blossom is the knowledge that they are indeed fleeting. The flowers are at their fullest right now, in this moment and yet I know that within a week they will be gone. It seems almost unfair, this briefness but alas, it is as it should be. All things must pass (was that a Gandolf quote? Maybe), the seasons but a cycle, one that doesn’t stop indeed that must not stop. Soon the leaves will unfurl and the cherry fruits will begin to form and grow, ripening in the heat of the summer months. But that time is not yet here and the blossoms are still at their best. Perhaps Hanami is one of the best mindfulness practices, the most easily applied.
When I first moved into this property, I can remember thinking how lucky I was. I live on a council estate in the middle of England, and like the poor the world over, we have little choice in where we find ourselves, but luck must have been on my side that fateful day when I took residence here. My house is the end one on a row of about six and as such, my garden is more than double the size of my neighbours. It has several mature trees including the cherry tree as well as shrubs, climbers and flowers. When I first moved in several people suggested cutting down the trees saying how it would open the garden up but I knew I could never do that. I grew up next door but one to my current home and as a child, I thought this garden was a special place, even then, like something straight out of The Secret Garden. There’s something so special about trees, they are like the grandparents of the world, anchoring us to the here and now, their roots stretching deep into the earth, our past, whilst their branches reach skyward, a literal reminder of our beginnings and the possibilities of our futures.
Sitting here, appreciating the garden in this moment makes me think of my genius loci and of land stewardship. I refer to this place as my garden in that I live here but it isn’t really mine, legally or otherwise. I don’t own it and even if I did I don’t think I would feel like I own it. How can we own the earth, own land? I understand that some buy land but even this, in my mind doesn’t really count as ownership, not in any meaningful way. Can we really claim the land? We can say that we come from it though, and that would be more accurate and because we all come from it, who has the right to say that some other has no right there? Call me an idealist but that’s what I think. Instead the idea of being a steward of this place makes more sense to me.
Part of the reason I say I was lucky to get such a house with such a garden is because I have had to do so very little to it. The gentleman who lived here before I did and for as long as I can remember took such good care of it that all I’ve had to do is maintain it and even that requires very little work. Even if he didn’t plant the trees here then I am still grateful that he didn’t cut them down as so many others would have, but I do know that he is responsible for the careful consideration and planting of so many of the plants that continue to flourish such as the roses that bloom every year in shades of white, yellow and pink planted in remembrance of his wife who passed away. This knowledge and understanding is part of that stewardship. Even without that knowledge I would not have removed them but knowing what I know does add a depth of meaning.
As an animist, I believe that everything in nature is imbued with spirit. As I sit here in my garden on this beautiful spring day, I feel the spirits of this place, the genius loci. The spirits of plants and beasts and those others who came before. Looking after the land, even if it is a garden, truly caring for that space leaves some part of ourselves there too, a slice of our soul. I’m sure the gentleman who lived here before, that his spirit or a part of it is linked to this place, this land, this garden he loved and tended. That in caring for it and nurturing it, some essence remains. I’m sure that when I am no longer of this world, a part of my spirit will remain here also.
And so, as the sun begins to set and I lose myself in the cherry blossom and the call of a dove somewhere unseen, I raise my glass to those who came before and think to myself that gardens make the best memorials, whether those who find solace in them realise it or not.
“Due to their short bloom time, Sakura blossoms are a metaphor for life itself: beautiful yet fleeting. You’ll realize when you’re as old as me to hang on to the good times because they won’t last forever.”
― Shannon M Mullen, See What Fowers
EMMA KATHRYN
My name is Emma Kathryn, my path is a mixture of traditional European witchcraft, vodou and obeah, a mixture representing my heritage. I live in the sticks with my family where I read tarot, practice witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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