Thinking about the spring of 2021

On April 4, it will be four whole years since I’ve come back to Japan. Four years, five springs. The very first spring in 2017 doesn’t really count since cherry blossoms in Tokyo had all fallen by the time my plane touched down. And you can’t really call it “spring” in Japan without seeing some cherry blossoms, can you?

This year, storms took away any possibility of having magnificent mankai. Any hopes for witnessing the splendor of hundreds of thousands of fully opened blossoms was washed away before our eyes. “Well, there is always next year!”, I think. The trees are there. They’ll bloom. But, the victims of COVID-19 and other illnesses and accidents and innumerous miscellaneous misfortunes will never see any cherry blossoms again.

2020 was painful. 2021 does not promise much. We can only keep our hopes up and picnic baskets in the storage. After all, what are we but petals swirling in the storm?