(Hanami is the Japanese custom of viewing flowers, particularly cherry blossoms.)
I looked at the blossom falling from the trees like unconvincing, rather tacky snow. It collected in wilting drifts until the street resembled the aftermath of a wedding where the bridesmaids had something to prove. I could see the mounds decaying into pink-brown sludge, like the vomit of a toddler allowed to eat too much birthday cake. The trees would not be as resplendent again as they had in April. For the rest of the year they’d be unremarkable, like a receptionist whose band once had a hit single, remembered by nobody.
Looking at the blossoms always brings me contentment.
Tom Juniper Poetry 