Doug awoke and sat up in bed to rub his eyes. Had last night really happened? Had he gone out on a date with someone after vowing for years since Jan died that he would remain single and alone forever?
But he had. And Sally was delightful. They laughed, held hands, and even hugged at the end of the night. Doug stood and walked to the kitchen to make coffee. His steps felt lighter than they had and a sense of warmth filled his chest. He wondered if Jan would approve.
He looked out the window and saw the cherry blossoms in full bloom. He and Jan had planted that tree a few years before she got sick. Before the loss. The tree hadn't bloomed in years, since she passed, but the bright pink flowers - her favorite - signaled her blessing.
Doug took his phone and texted Sally. "Thanks for a great time. Any plans today? Care to meet up?"
Thank you, Evelyn! I'm doing haiku for a morning practice these days. 🌸 Cherry blossoms are the most famous inspiration for this art form in Japan, so here goes:
There used to be a festival that would come through my hometown when the cherry blossoms bloomed. There would be dancing, music, food, laughter, even more food, happiness, no like seriously a ton of food I genuinely cannot even begin to fathom how we ate all of that food... It was one of the best things to happen in that town.
It was a time for the entire community to get together.
The night would bring fireworks, drinking, and storytelling. The little kids seemed to like that part the most, the storytelling. If they weren't listening to someone else, they were running around making stories of their own.
It was nice. More than nice, it was wonderful.
But as time went by, the allure of the festival slowly faded away. I got older, entered college, and by the time I started working I was too tired to think of anything other than resting. The idea of a festival became a bit silly in my mind.
It's been a while since I've had a break like this. No work, no meetings, no sudden plans to drain my energy.
I'm bored.
Watching the trees outside begin to bloom, I know it's only a matter of time before the festival comes back around. A matter of days, in fact.
To my surprise, I'm actually looking forward to it.
Maybe it'll be just as much fun as I remember.
Watching the trees begin to bloom, I think there's only one way to find out.
The Unbreakable Promise (I swear I'm not a depressing person)
“Will you promise me?”
That phrase has both haunted and motivated Emmie since her older brother, Evan, had uttered it almost two years ago now. He’s supposed to be the one sitting on this plane beside her, not this college-age boy wearing too much body spray. It’s seriously so strong it makes her eyes water. He hasn’t said a word to her, and she’s more than fine with that. She’s not here to make friends; she’s here to keep a promise.
It’s such a long flight. She hadn’t really thought about the logistics when she’d promised Evan; there hadn’t been time to think. The promise had left her mouth without her giving it a second thought. Evan had been her only tie left to their hometown and once he was gone, there was no reason to stay. Her leaving is part of her keeping her promise to him. He wanted her to travel, which has always been a dream for her. She had put off college to care for him, not that she had a huge desire to be stuck in a classroom for a few more years before starting her life.
Evan’s last request of her had been to take whatever money was left from his life insurance payout and travel. She had waited until the day after his small funeral then booked a trip to Japan, where she would go see the Cherry Blossom Trees in full bloom. It’s something she and Evan had talked about doing together. Before he got sick. Before he left her.
A few months later
Emmie doesn’t say a word as she enters the cemetery. There’s no one around. The sun is just starting to rise above the tree line. She lets her feet guide her to the area she remembers all too well for not having seen it in months, kneeling in the dew-covered grass and tracing his name with her fingers. Connecting.
“I did it Ev,” she whispers, hand now dipping into her purse to pull out a photograph of a Cherry Blossom tree. “I brought it to you.”
She’s sure no one will believe her, but she swears she felt a hand on her shoulder.
The cherry blossoms began to sing, the wind accompanying the sweet sound. The song was not for any living creature to hear, but simply for the earth to feel through the roots and vibrate back into the air. It was a song of returning, of finding yourself back home after months of travelling.
Lyla was in a rush, her office beckoned her, the pressure to be first in and last to leave often had her skipping meals and leaving the house at an ungodly hour. As she bundled her bag and coat into the back of her car, she noticed something different in the air. A sweet smell. A music of sorts, though none was playing. This strange feeling enticed her to stop, and look to see where it was coming from. A playful branch tickled the top of her hair and suddenly Lyla was enveloped in the scent of cherry blossoms, the warmth of spring worming its way into her bones. She stopped, closing her eyes and heard the most beautiful tune, one that was etched on her heart. The office could wait, the feeling of cherry blossoms and home could not.
“See my apple tree there?” I said to my neighbor. It was the first time Tony and I had spoken in person since December 31st when both of us chose to toast the New Year on our icy back decks. My Mary had just retreated inside after freezing her butt off when he ventured out alone. Actually, it was the last time we had talked at all. "It's finally blooming."
He pointed with a hot cup of something in his hand. “Sure it isn't a pear tree?”
“No. It’s an apple,” I confirmed. “My daughter found it for me five years ago on clearance where she used to work.” For some reason, I had always appreciated knowing – and sharing --the history of a thing.
He scratched the side of his neck where three days of beard showed. “Whatever. Maybe you’ll get some fruit this year.”
Tony and his girlfriend had moved in the year I planted it. Since then, the girlfriend had moved on. He stayed on and transformed a plot of scrubby trees into a lush, well-manicured lawn with a stone fire pit in the center. I heard the sound of his riding mower as he trimmed it twice a week.
It surprised me that he had noticed how my apple tree had been slow to mature and had failed to bloom until this year. “We hope so.” Mary’s emotional investment in the tree was greater than mine since she grew up on a farm. My interest was more gastronomical. She baked some awesome pies.
“I had a tree once,” Tony said. “It was just a tree. Maybe an oak or elm, I don’t know. My older brother Jack and I were always climbing it. We talked Dad into building a fort in its branches, but Mom put the kibosh on that. She was always worrying about stuff.”
Jack. I didn’t know Tony had a brother.
“That didn’t keep us out of the tree.” He stopped talking, as if deciding whether to continue.
I thought about my brother. He lived in Maine. We were lucky to talk once a year. Since Mom died, we hadn’t visited in five.
I opened my mouth, but Tony beat me to it.
“Dad cut it down a week after Jack broke his neck. I was there when it happened.”
“I was eleven. Mom wasn’t the same after that. I graduated and I got out of there.”
What could I say? He seemed matter of fact about sharing such details. What do you do when someone invites you to the main course of their lives?
When I look at this picture I see :a pretty picture. something that smells good. Something the bees use to pollenate? Part of the ecosystem of our planet. A symbol of celebration. A gift. A gift from Mother Nature. A gift from God?
But what do I really see and what does it represent to me? A sign that I survived another winter, another season. I’ve seen these types of flowers countless times, and yet..this time, this spring, something’s different. It's as if I can finally REALLY see them. My blinders that I’ve worn for so long are coming off, slowly but surely.
In the past there was always this dull ache surrounding everything. This wall between me and the world. Now, I can feel this photo, feel the emotions it evokes in a way that art /photography/nature rarely has. On my journey of self-discovery, I am becoming more present, more aware, and as painful as this sometimes is, the expansion of beauty, gratitude, and love that comes along with it makes it so worth it. (For when we dissociate, we are separated not just from the bad but also from the good.)
I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the beauty, for everything Mother Nature does for us. A stronger connection to this Earth that supports me, supports all of us.
“Once you see, you are no longer able to unsee” -Sarah Blondin, Insight Timer
The flowers are expanding, growing. And so am I. What a beautiful thing.
The pretty flowers on the pretty tree on this pretty day reminded me that in the midst of ugliness there is still so much beauty and whimsey in what is still a pretty world.
Bennet Tyler wondered what on earth he had done to get so lucky. It had always been his dream to work with trees and plants, nurture them and grow them in the best version of themselves. He loved landscapes, and he loved the outdoors, even if sometimes working amongst nature's most beautiful creations felt a little isolating, especially when people asked what he did for a living.
So, when an opportunity to work at the Château de Clairmont, a famed tourist attraction and self-declared "champion for under appreciated talent", he'd took it without a second thought. While it'd required some international moving, and some pointed comments from his family, he'd firmly held onto his dream of planting wonderful things for somebody who would appreciate it.
He never expected to meet Katherine. And he certainly never expected her to look at him twice.
But, love has a funny way of creeping up on a person without their permission. And here under the cherry blossoms he'd painstakingly cultivated, he could quietly admit to himself, that he loved her.
"I'm always stunned by how beautiful a little bit of photosynthesis and a clear sky can be," the very subject of his musings said idly.
"For an artists, you have a funny way with words."
"I'm an art curator, not an artist. I can barely draw Ben."
"You make the castle come alive with your careful and meticulous planning. It wouldn't be half the attraction without you. And the Comtesse knows it. It's why she pays you so much."
Katherine shifted from her lounging pose to peer up at him, the gentle wind playing through her hair, and a myriad of shadows adding an almost etherial effect to the scene. "Now who has a way with words? For a groundskeeper you sure know how to flatter a girl."
"Mm, I'm lucky my subject is so receptive"
She let out a little huff of amusement, and Bennet preened in success. Getting a laugh out of Katherine was as difficult as managing a hibiscus. But so worth it when you did. She leaned up a little more, and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I think it's me who's lucky, here."
The couple lapsed into silence under the waving cherry blossoms, and Bennet felt a warm glow rush through him. Yes, it was good to be home.
It's time, little one. The world is waiting to see your beauty."
"The children wish to dance beneath your petals."
"The lovers need your blessings for their spring proposals."
Bramble and the Dew Dancers performed their intricate choreography, trailing enchanted moisture across branches that caused the wood to soften and flex, allowing the buds room to expand.
Whisper, the smallest fairy but with the most powerful voice, flew to the tallest branch of the central tree. There, she sang the ancient Blossom Ballad, a song passed down through seventeen thousand generations of Bloom Wardens. Her voice carried across the entire grove, weaving a spell of awakening that no cherry blossom could resist.
As the afternoon sun reached its zenith, the first bud cracked open—a tiny pink crown emerging from its green casing. The fairies cheered, redoubling their efforts.
By sunset, patches of delicate blossoms dotted the grove. By midnight, under Mariposa's tireless direction, half the trees showed signs of pink. The fairies worked through exhaustion, their wings drooping but spirits high.
When dawn broke over Starlight Cove the next morning, Mrs. Greenberg stepped onto her porch and gasped. The entire cherry grove had transformed overnight—a magnificent explosion of pink and white blossoms covered every branch, their sweet fragrance wafting through the morning air.
"It's a miracle," whispered the mayor, who had come to see for himself after receiving dozens of early morning calls.
Children ran among the trees, catching falling petals in their hands. Lovers walked hand in hand beneath the flowery canopy, already making wishes.
And hidden among the blossoms, tiny exhausted fairies smiled with satisfaction, curling up for well-deserved naps among the petals they had so lovingly awakened.
The blossoms are whispering the secrets of the woods. Larvae are enshrouded among the roots, waiting to burst forth into the lives they were meant to live, whether it’s for one season or five.
Soon, the hum of buzzing bees will echo through the meadow.
Graceful butterflies will perform their ballet from flower to flower, and the symphony of the meadow will ring out until, once again, the leaves tumble from the trees, and the earth rests.
Doug awoke and sat up in bed to rub his eyes. Had last night really happened? Had he gone out on a date with someone after vowing for years since Jan died that he would remain single and alone forever?
But he had. And Sally was delightful. They laughed, held hands, and even hugged at the end of the night. Doug stood and walked to the kitchen to make coffee. His steps felt lighter than they had and a sense of warmth filled his chest. He wondered if Jan would approve.
He looked out the window and saw the cherry blossoms in full bloom. He and Jan had planted that tree a few years before she got sick. Before the loss. The tree hadn't bloomed in years, since she passed, but the bright pink flowers - her favorite - signaled her blessing.
Doug took his phone and texted Sally. "Thanks for a great time. Any plans today? Care to meet up?"
He hoped she would say yes.
Thank you, Evelyn! I'm doing haiku for a morning practice these days. 🌸 Cherry blossoms are the most famous inspiration for this art form in Japan, so here goes:
Oh! Flurry of pink!
I lay below, receiving,
Cherry blooms me up.
There used to be a festival that would come through my hometown when the cherry blossoms bloomed. There would be dancing, music, food, laughter, even more food, happiness, no like seriously a ton of food I genuinely cannot even begin to fathom how we ate all of that food... It was one of the best things to happen in that town.
It was a time for the entire community to get together.
The night would bring fireworks, drinking, and storytelling. The little kids seemed to like that part the most, the storytelling. If they weren't listening to someone else, they were running around making stories of their own.
It was nice. More than nice, it was wonderful.
But as time went by, the allure of the festival slowly faded away. I got older, entered college, and by the time I started working I was too tired to think of anything other than resting. The idea of a festival became a bit silly in my mind.
It's been a while since I've had a break like this. No work, no meetings, no sudden plans to drain my energy.
I'm bored.
Watching the trees outside begin to bloom, I know it's only a matter of time before the festival comes back around. A matter of days, in fact.
To my surprise, I'm actually looking forward to it.
Maybe it'll be just as much fun as I remember.
Watching the trees begin to bloom, I think there's only one way to find out.
The Unbreakable Promise (I swear I'm not a depressing person)
“Will you promise me?”
That phrase has both haunted and motivated Emmie since her older brother, Evan, had uttered it almost two years ago now. He’s supposed to be the one sitting on this plane beside her, not this college-age boy wearing too much body spray. It’s seriously so strong it makes her eyes water. He hasn’t said a word to her, and she’s more than fine with that. She’s not here to make friends; she’s here to keep a promise.
It’s such a long flight. She hadn’t really thought about the logistics when she’d promised Evan; there hadn’t been time to think. The promise had left her mouth without her giving it a second thought. Evan had been her only tie left to their hometown and once he was gone, there was no reason to stay. Her leaving is part of her keeping her promise to him. He wanted her to travel, which has always been a dream for her. She had put off college to care for him, not that she had a huge desire to be stuck in a classroom for a few more years before starting her life.
Evan’s last request of her had been to take whatever money was left from his life insurance payout and travel. She had waited until the day after his small funeral then booked a trip to Japan, where she would go see the Cherry Blossom Trees in full bloom. It’s something she and Evan had talked about doing together. Before he got sick. Before he left her.
A few months later
Emmie doesn’t say a word as she enters the cemetery. There’s no one around. The sun is just starting to rise above the tree line. She lets her feet guide her to the area she remembers all too well for not having seen it in months, kneeling in the dew-covered grass and tracing his name with her fingers. Connecting.
“I did it Ev,” she whispers, hand now dipping into her purse to pull out a photograph of a Cherry Blossom tree. “I brought it to you.”
She’s sure no one will believe her, but she swears she felt a hand on her shoulder.
The cherry blossoms began to sing, the wind accompanying the sweet sound. The song was not for any living creature to hear, but simply for the earth to feel through the roots and vibrate back into the air. It was a song of returning, of finding yourself back home after months of travelling.
Lyla was in a rush, her office beckoned her, the pressure to be first in and last to leave often had her skipping meals and leaving the house at an ungodly hour. As she bundled her bag and coat into the back of her car, she noticed something different in the air. A sweet smell. A music of sorts, though none was playing. This strange feeling enticed her to stop, and look to see where it was coming from. A playful branch tickled the top of her hair and suddenly Lyla was enveloped in the scent of cherry blossoms, the warmth of spring worming its way into her bones. She stopped, closing her eyes and heard the most beautiful tune, one that was etched on her heart. The office could wait, the feeling of cherry blossoms and home could not.
“See my apple tree there?” I said to my neighbor. It was the first time Tony and I had spoken in person since December 31st when both of us chose to toast the New Year on our icy back decks. My Mary had just retreated inside after freezing her butt off when he ventured out alone. Actually, it was the last time we had talked at all. "It's finally blooming."
He pointed with a hot cup of something in his hand. “Sure it isn't a pear tree?”
“No. It’s an apple,” I confirmed. “My daughter found it for me five years ago on clearance where she used to work.” For some reason, I had always appreciated knowing – and sharing --the history of a thing.
He scratched the side of his neck where three days of beard showed. “Whatever. Maybe you’ll get some fruit this year.”
Tony and his girlfriend had moved in the year I planted it. Since then, the girlfriend had moved on. He stayed on and transformed a plot of scrubby trees into a lush, well-manicured lawn with a stone fire pit in the center. I heard the sound of his riding mower as he trimmed it twice a week.
It surprised me that he had noticed how my apple tree had been slow to mature and had failed to bloom until this year. “We hope so.” Mary’s emotional investment in the tree was greater than mine since she grew up on a farm. My interest was more gastronomical. She baked some awesome pies.
“I had a tree once,” Tony said. “It was just a tree. Maybe an oak or elm, I don’t know. My older brother Jack and I were always climbing it. We talked Dad into building a fort in its branches, but Mom put the kibosh on that. She was always worrying about stuff.”
Jack. I didn’t know Tony had a brother.
“That didn’t keep us out of the tree.” He stopped talking, as if deciding whether to continue.
I thought about my brother. He lived in Maine. We were lucky to talk once a year. Since Mom died, we hadn’t visited in five.
I opened my mouth, but Tony beat me to it.
“Dad cut it down a week after Jack broke his neck. I was there when it happened.”
“I was eleven. Mom wasn’t the same after that. I graduated and I got out of there.”
What could I say? He seemed matter of fact about sharing such details. What do you do when someone invites you to the main course of their lives?
“Do you like apple pie? Mary makes the best.”
When I look at this picture I see :a pretty picture. something that smells good. Something the bees use to pollenate? Part of the ecosystem of our planet. A symbol of celebration. A gift. A gift from Mother Nature. A gift from God?
But what do I really see and what does it represent to me? A sign that I survived another winter, another season. I’ve seen these types of flowers countless times, and yet..this time, this spring, something’s different. It's as if I can finally REALLY see them. My blinders that I’ve worn for so long are coming off, slowly but surely.
In the past there was always this dull ache surrounding everything. This wall between me and the world. Now, I can feel this photo, feel the emotions it evokes in a way that art /photography/nature rarely has. On my journey of self-discovery, I am becoming more present, more aware, and as painful as this sometimes is, the expansion of beauty, gratitude, and love that comes along with it makes it so worth it. (For when we dissociate, we are separated not just from the bad but also from the good.)
I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the beauty, for everything Mother Nature does for us. A stronger connection to this Earth that supports me, supports all of us.
“Once you see, you are no longer able to unsee” -Sarah Blondin, Insight Timer
The flowers are expanding, growing. And so am I. What a beautiful thing.
The pretty flowers on the pretty tree on this pretty day reminded me that in the midst of ugliness there is still so much beauty and whimsey in what is still a pretty world.
Bennet Tyler wondered what on earth he had done to get so lucky. It had always been his dream to work with trees and plants, nurture them and grow them in the best version of themselves. He loved landscapes, and he loved the outdoors, even if sometimes working amongst nature's most beautiful creations felt a little isolating, especially when people asked what he did for a living.
So, when an opportunity to work at the Château de Clairmont, a famed tourist attraction and self-declared "champion for under appreciated talent", he'd took it without a second thought. While it'd required some international moving, and some pointed comments from his family, he'd firmly held onto his dream of planting wonderful things for somebody who would appreciate it.
He never expected to meet Katherine. And he certainly never expected her to look at him twice.
But, love has a funny way of creeping up on a person without their permission. And here under the cherry blossoms he'd painstakingly cultivated, he could quietly admit to himself, that he loved her.
"I'm always stunned by how beautiful a little bit of photosynthesis and a clear sky can be," the very subject of his musings said idly.
"For an artists, you have a funny way with words."
"I'm an art curator, not an artist. I can barely draw Ben."
"You make the castle come alive with your careful and meticulous planning. It wouldn't be half the attraction without you. And the Comtesse knows it. It's why she pays you so much."
Katherine shifted from her lounging pose to peer up at him, the gentle wind playing through her hair, and a myriad of shadows adding an almost etherial effect to the scene. "Now who has a way with words? For a groundskeeper you sure know how to flatter a girl."
"Mm, I'm lucky my subject is so receptive"
She let out a little huff of amusement, and Bennet preened in success. Getting a laugh out of Katherine was as difficult as managing a hibiscus. But so worth it when you did. She leaned up a little more, and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I think it's me who's lucky, here."
The couple lapsed into silence under the waving cherry blossoms, and Bennet felt a warm glow rush through him. Yes, it was good to be home.
It's time, little one. The world is waiting to see your beauty."
"The children wish to dance beneath your petals."
"The lovers need your blessings for their spring proposals."
Bramble and the Dew Dancers performed their intricate choreography, trailing enchanted moisture across branches that caused the wood to soften and flex, allowing the buds room to expand.
Whisper, the smallest fairy but with the most powerful voice, flew to the tallest branch of the central tree. There, she sang the ancient Blossom Ballad, a song passed down through seventeen thousand generations of Bloom Wardens. Her voice carried across the entire grove, weaving a spell of awakening that no cherry blossom could resist.
As the afternoon sun reached its zenith, the first bud cracked open—a tiny pink crown emerging from its green casing. The fairies cheered, redoubling their efforts.
By sunset, patches of delicate blossoms dotted the grove. By midnight, under Mariposa's tireless direction, half the trees showed signs of pink. The fairies worked through exhaustion, their wings drooping but spirits high.
When dawn broke over Starlight Cove the next morning, Mrs. Greenberg stepped onto her porch and gasped. The entire cherry grove had transformed overnight—a magnificent explosion of pink and white blossoms covered every branch, their sweet fragrance wafting through the morning air.
"It's a miracle," whispered the mayor, who had come to see for himself after receiving dozens of early morning calls.
Children ran among the trees, catching falling petals in their hands. Lovers walked hand in hand beneath the flowery canopy, already making wishes.
And hidden among the blossoms, tiny exhausted fairies smiled with satisfaction, curling up for well-deserved naps among the petals they had so lovingly awakened.
The blossoms are whispering the secrets of the woods. Larvae are enshrouded among the roots, waiting to burst forth into the lives they were meant to live, whether it’s for one season or five.
Soon, the hum of buzzing bees will echo through the meadow.
Graceful butterflies will perform their ballet from flower to flower, and the symphony of the meadow will ring out until, once again, the leaves tumble from the trees, and the earth rests.
Dawn Brunelle