Leave Something for the Archaeologists
Hierakonpolis
2005-04-17
2:30 pm
The Flower of Carnage...
Sakura.
The Cherry Blossom.
The perfect symbol for the stunning victory of entropy over matter.
I walk past all the Sakura. They smell like cherry pie on a warm day such as this. They bloom for a week or two - beautiful, delicate... and then their petals fall, and the fragile flowers die, giving way to the ripe, sweet fruit that will ensure the next generation.
It would be trite to compare us to the Sakura. Far greater minds than I, with far more honeyed tongues have made the comparison. On isolated islands, in ages paassed, in gardens of Sakura, by streams and gravel paths leading to wooden temples and bronze statues...
No, I would not try to emulate far greater poets and painters.
I will simply reflect. At this time of year, when the spring has come upon us at last. When I'm warm and bright, and should be happy. I look at those cherry blossoms and am reminded of the vultures that follow me as I walk my path.
I know as I plot my course through life - whichever trail I might choose, I know cannot escape the local fauna...
I look in the mirror each day, and though I might still pass for 17 in some circles, I know that before I realize that any time has passed, I will wish to have the strength I did at 70...
Sakura. Reminders perhaps to make the most of each day before us - to never waste a second of life, never cower from any challenge, never pass by any oppurtunity in fear. Lest we never really live.
Sakura. The cruelest of flora with its softest of reminders - the scent of warm cherry pie that too soon becomes that sweet, cloying scent of rot.
Once home, I will be happy to know I will never see another cherry blossom.
