Sakura Season

The cherry blossoms lasted only one week. Grandmother said this made them more beautiful. Yuki didn't understand. Why was something better because it didn't last? They walked through Ueno Park beneath clouds of pink petals. Families picnicked under the trees, celebrating hanami—flower viewing—a tradition older than memory. "Look closely," Grandmother instructed. Yuki examined a single blossom. Five delicate petals, pale pink fading to white, trembling in the breeze. "So pretty," she whispered. "Yes. And tomorrow, the wind will scatter them like snow. In one week, they will all be gone." Yuki felt sad. "I wish they would stay forever." Grandmother smiled. "If cherry blossoms bloomed all year, would we gather beneath them like this? Would we celebrate their arrival? Would we notice their beauty?" Yuki considered. "Maybe not." "The Japanese have a phrase: mono no aware. The bittersweetness of transient beauty. Because these flowers are brief, we treasure them more. Because they fade, we pay attention. They teach us that nothing lasts forever—and that is not sad. It makes each moment precious." A breeze scattered petals around them like gentle rain. Yuki caught one in her palm, studying its perfect fragility. She understood now. Beauty was not diminished by brevity. It was intensified. She would remember this moment—these trees, this grandmother, these falling petals—precisely because it would never come again.