I packed a bento and headed out, following the river north-west from Katsura Bridge, my usual route. A hazy sunshine blurred the distant mountains and warmed my bones. The river spread itself wide in places. A natural gesture or a man-made manipulation, I wasn't sure. Its banks were spattered with yellow rapeseed.
There's a graceful bend and great stony beach near Matsuo Taisha. I stopped here for lunch beneath two ancient sakura. The trees have probably known more beautiful surroundings given their age. The thoughtless concrete slab upon which I sat a sort of insult to nature, an abomination.
A cool breeze plucked some of the lazier sakura blossoms from the trees. They flipped and twirled and spun to the ground. That was it. The end of their performance. Always too soon. But next year, upon the same stage they'll put on another show, and we'll once again sit and wonder.
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