Miharu Takizakura A spring day when I looked up and couldn’t speak

When I looked up from the viewing path, the long branches of Miharu Takizakura filled my view. I thought I knew what to expect from the photos, but I found myself tracing the branches from end to end, still trying to take in how one tree could stretch so far. So many tiny blossoms covered them, packed close together.

I let my gaze travel slowly from the lower branches back to the trunk. I’d been looking only at the flowers, but behind them was a massive trunk, with supports holding up the spreading branches. I didn’t want to leave it at “beautiful.” I stayed right there on the viewing path, taking it all in.

For centuries, this cherry tree had bloomed like this—and here it was, still blooming right in front of me. I felt a rush of warmth in my chest. I tried to say something, but no words came. Before I knew it, my hands were clasped in front of my waist, and I was still gazing up at its blossom-laden branches.

I kept thinking I ought to say something, but there was no need to rush. All I could think was, I’m so glad I got to see this tree. I smiled a little as I looked up, and the tension I’d been holding began to ease.

I looked once more at the blossoms at the tips of the branches. It was such a huge tree, yet each flower was so small. When I lowered my eyes, I noticed the rapeseed flowers, too, and realised how completely absorbed I’d been in the cherry tree. Now I was able to take in the signs of spring around my feet, too, and felt like walking on a little farther.

After following the viewing path a little farther, I turned around and the branches seemed to overlap differently from where I’d been standing before. I’d meant to take one last look before leaving, but my feet stopped again. I wanted to take the whole scene home with me—the spring view, and that moment when I was too full of emotion to speak.