Ihre Browserversion ist veraltet. Wir empfehlen, Ihren Browser auf die neueste Version zu aktualisieren.

Cherry Blossom

Posted 4/5/2017

Cherry Blossom


There is a soft breeze. No storm, no wind, not even a harsher breeze that can raise the hair on one’s arm, no, just a soft breeze. It carries the sweet unobtrusive perfume of a grove full of blooming Japanese cherry trees. Their soft and vulnerable petals seem to dance in the soft breeze. Sometimes, one of them is brave enough to leave its tree and to dance its own rose-coloured choreography towards the meadow underneath.

There, on the wild and green meadow, sits a man. His legs are crossed like those of an ancient scribe. In his right hand he holds a sheet of white paper while his left draws calligraphic signs with a firm stroke. From time to time, he pauses for a moment. Then he sighs, sometimes contentedly, sometimes in a sad way. When a small petal finds its way and lands on his sheet, he always smiles and remembers the good things. But he also needs to reflect on the bad things. And those are the times he always tries to see the good thing in the bad and vice versa: Yin and yang. There will never be just one side to things.

He feels calm, at peace and surrounded by serenity. Never before has it been so easy for him to think clearly. His mind had always been clouded by other things, other emotions, other people. Now, he can finally centre on himself, on his feelings and his musings. The only things that could distract him now are the trees around him but they seem to be his companions, his friends. They listen to him whenever he wants them to, or they can be silent together. He mostly chooses the latter. But still, there are people and places that he misses. Beforehand, he would never have thought so, but he can feel a painful sting when he remembers those nearest to him. He hopes that they are well and that one day, they will see each other again. Then, he will be able to explain, and then, he will be able to talk again, he won’t feel the urge to be silent anymore.

While listening to the gentle rustling, the man thinks about the last chapter of his story. The introduction, the main part, and the ending. How do they relate to each other? Is there a connection to the previous chapter? Or is there even a link to the very beginning of the entire story? This is something that will take him a while to ponder on. He looks up and admires the glory in soft rose above his head, and wonders: Is this really the last the chapter, the ending?


* I will always miss you! *