Cherry Blossoms: The Fleeting Season

I am thinking of cherry blossoms and remembering a tree in the backyard at Keeneland Race Course in Lexington, Kentucky. When Brad and Ben and I would go to the spring meet, we'd sometimes sit beneath a cherry tree by the paddock walkway. While the accommodations were simple—a small, wrought iron table and mismatched chairs—the company and the blossom canopy made it seem like preferred seating. Occasionally, lifted by the lightest notion of air, a stray flower released from the tree, slipping past shoulders and falling through hands to rest on the tender green grass at our feet. I know that we appreciated afternoons at Keeneland, that we didn’t take the time for granted—but we did not grasp how truly fleeting those moments were. How could we know—how could we ever know?

These days, when I happen upon cherry blossoms or ephemeral flowers of springtime—lining a winding trail, spilling from the hillside, filling a stream-side glen—there is bittersweet feeling, an attunement with transient beauty and passing joy. I know that the stirring breeze, a gentle fall of raindrops, or the ever-advancing season will send petals to ground, that beauty and joy are twined with loss and sorrow. And yet, beneath branches draped in cherry blossoms, there is a sense that nothing we love is truly lost or inevitably wasted. Beauty fades, joy subsides—but spring will come again, always, and memory speaks with eloquence beyond power of language, across time. —B.

Raindrops on the last of the cherry blossoms in Hamarikyu Gardens, Tokyo, Japan—April 23, 2025.
—D.

I am thinking of cherry blossoms, too, as I scroll through photographs sister D. shared from a recent trip to Korea and Japan—trees so beautiful, so joyful in their time, their place, their brief season. In all likelihood, I will never pass by those trees—and it is unlikely that D. will pause beneath them again. They will bloom and release their blossoms in another springtime, for other passersby—for strangers in the sense that we will never meet, strangers who speak different languages, who claim history and culture different from our own—but acquaintances in the poignant bonds of life and death, beauty and loss, joy and sorrow. The fleeting season of blossoms brings us closer to understanding something of ourselves and something of others, something of the world around us—how moment and memory, no more and always, mingle in the branches of a cherry tree. —B.

Looking upward through a cherry blossom canopy, Lexington, Kentucky—April 2015.
—B.

The poem that follows is modified from tanka, a traditional Japanese poetic form. 

Cherry Blossoms—

how branches laden

with delicate pink and cream

form a canopy,

mingling joy and wistfulness

in gentle acknowledgment,

knowing—

how the breath of breeze,

raindrops, or whispers of time

bring blossoms to rest

on soft earth beneath the tree,

still so beautiful in loss

—always.

—B.

Cherry blossoms in front of a pagoda in Heian Jingu Garden, Kyoto, Japan—April 17, 2025.
—D.

When thinking of cherry blossoms, the flowers of the ornamental cherry tree (Prunus subg. Cerasus) probably come first to mind. These blossoms (sakura) are the national flower of Japan, which gifted cultivated ornamental cherry trees to the United States in the early 1900s. In Japanese culture, cherry blossoms have deep and complicated symbolism. On the one hand, the pink and white blossoms sing out the arrival of spring, renewal, and beauty. At the same time, the flowers are sadly short-lived—falling easily with a breeze in a stark reminder that time is fleeting.

Cherry blossoms at Keeneland, Lexington, Kentucky—April 2015.

—B.

For the Japanese, cherry blossoms are a central example of mono no aware (pronounced roughly as “moh-noh-noh-ah-wah-ray”). Mono no aware is not a philosophy or belief, but a very specific feeling—a bittersweet awareness of the fragility and impermanence of something beautiful. Cherry blossoms typically bloom on a tree for only 7-10 days before falling, and they are one of few blossoms that fall while they are in full bloom, not withering or fading. For those that pause to admire them, their brief lifespan makes them even more precious. —D.

Cherry blossoms holding on and letting go at Hamarikyu Gardens, Tokyo, Japan—April 23, 2025.
—D.

Spring blossoming offers the perfect opportunity to practice mono no aware, appreciating the moment, and reflecting on life’s impermanence. Take inspiration from the Japanese tradition of hanami, or “flower viewing.” While hanami is commonly practiced by gathering with others under blooming cherry trees, you can take advantage of any spring blooms that are available to you. The next time you notice a new bloom on a plant or tree, give yourself a few minutes to observe. Breathe. Try to sink into the moment, setting aside your phone or camera, and just savoring the experience. Let all your senses engage in enjoyment.

Blossoms along the Enola Low Grade Trail, Conestoga, Pennsylvania—April 2025.
—B.

Recognize that this flower is here only for a short time before it is gone. Enjoy it even more because it is not going to last. Let yourself sit with the reality that this flower will soon fade and die. Understand that it will be replaced by new life.  Realize the gift you’ve been given in being able to see this beautiful blossom for one moment in time. What can you learn from this experience? —D.

Trees at Heian Jingu Shinto Shrine Garden, Kyoto, Japan—April 17, 2025.
—D.

To know mono no aware is to discern the power and essence, not just of the moon and cherry blossoms, but of every single thing existing in this world, and to be stirred by each of them, so as to rejoice at happy occasions, to be saddened by sad occurrences, and to love what should be loved.

—Matoori Norinaga, 1730-1801, Japanese scholar and poet

 from Personal Views on Poetry

Early twentieth century postcard showing cherry blossom season at Ueno Park, Tokyo, Japan.
—The Library of Congress.

Cherry blossoms in full bloom at Gyeoungbok Palace, Seoul, South Korea—April 10, 2025.
—D.