Before the Petals Fall

No matter how many sakura seasons I’ve lived through, I’m still quite taken with this soft, pink-filled, dreamy time of year that Japan seems to do so well.

Sakura trees here aren’t just beautiful. They’re planted where life happens.

Along school routes, near train stations, beside rivers and around the playgrounds people pass every day. For a few short weeks, even the most ordinary routines feel a little magical.

A small window

And yes, I am that annoying mom who begs her child to bike to school with me, just so we can pass through tunnels of mesmerising cherry blossoms.

I know very well that he would rather take the car and sleep until the last possible minute. I also know he is reaching the age when being seen with his mom may not be the coolest thing.

I try anyway, because I know this window is small.

Not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet, undeniable way that children grow. I know that one day, sooner than I would like, he won’t be around for this.

To my surprise, he said yes. Easily. My heart pounded, and off we went, riding our bikes together through a tunnel of dreamy pink clouds.

Somewhere along the way, it struck me again.

What children already understand

Children seem to understand this instinctively.

They throw themselves into fleeting moments without hesitation. Jumping into puddles. Tossing fallen petals into the air to make their own sakura showers. Laughing uncontrollably as they tickle each other with soft grasses. Tapping at frozen streams, completely absorbed until the ice finally gives way.

To busy adults in a world like ours, these moments can feel inconvenient.

But there is something different about children after a day like this. They are calmer, more settled and quietly fulfilled. They rest more deeply, as if something inside them has been met.

I saw it in my once-reluctant son as he looked up in quiet wonder at the petal-filled sky while we biked through the trees to school.