A Walk by D.C.’s Cherry Blossoms
On Thursday March 23rd was the prospected peak blossom for the cherry trees. It showered in the morning, but fortunately let up around 10:30 am. Everything was dry and the skies were partially cloudy by noon.
I took an Uber to the Tidal Basin. The extra money spent compared to the Metro was well worth the cost. On the way we encountered moderate traffic, which offered me long moments to gaze at the cherry and pear blossoms lining the park walks and main street sidewalks. In a seemingly random spot in traffic, the driver lowered the passenger seat window. Within seconds, as though impatiently waiting, a petal fluttered inside and landed on the seat, in silence. Immediately I grasped this to be a contemporary recreation of a famous haiku. In Harold Stewart’s translation of Môgan’s poem:
Down The Avenue
The curtain of the daimyo’s palanquin
Was lifted. Cherry petals drifted in.
It seemed everyone was out of doors, enjoying the snow still “unfamiliar to the sky”. I felt a hint of that liberty in relaxation that we receive as children on those afternoons when school is let out, and we burst out the nearest exit, head-first into the weekend.
We arrived. I hopped out the car in the side of the street. Unfortunately America has not adopted the popular traditions or recognized etiquette of hanami (the Japanese in Romaji script for “flower-viewing”). Some did picnic; others were taking pictures. I caught professional photo shoots for some type of anniversary celebration, a couple quinceañeras, a family reunion, and no doubt a LinkedIn profile. Some were simply loafing, as I intended to do.
One couple, though in the shade of a cherry tree, still near the main path and in open view for everyone passing by, spent an uncomfortably long time in a passionate embrace. In these “public displays of affection,” I mean in this instance of those messy make-out sessions, there can be no intimacy. I assume one or both were drunk on a cherry-flavored wine or sakura sangria. The woman leaped on top of the man while he was on his back. I did not stop and stare long enough to see if it was reciprocated. Overall, it was embarrassing and not appropriate for the children.
But the trees! I close my eyes and still they drift overhead, the closest clouds of white petals. All seemed new and fresh. The Spirit was lighter for it. My thoughts hardly dwelt on more serious topics than the beauty unlocked in a blossom or the elegant ornamentation on some of the womens’ dresses who stopped to pose under a cherry branch. I noticed people spoke slightly softer (for American standards), and no anger was perceptible in anyone but the chance annoyances from moving in crowds.
An unexpected delight was to be found in the older trees, where the trunks appeared robust with an aged nobility. I took about as many pictures of the blossoms as these strong knotty limbs.
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
Thou hast how'ld away twelve winters."
Prospero to Ariel, The Tempest I.ii
I became particularly fond of the branches that hung over the walk, stretching across a section of water. I felt these trees shared with me a predilection for the cool air and calm ripples of waves.
There is the opportunity to paddleboat across the basin, an activity taken up customarily by couples. I confess I had not the courage to go out alone. The shame I felt for not acting upon my inclinations subsided slightly when I overheared that one had to make reservations beforehand. Seeing the present line of people and the size of the crowd generally I assumed all time slots were full.
After walking ¾ around the Tidal Basin I discovered the official D.C. cherry festival and its stands. For the size of the crowd and the cultural significance of cherry blossom viewing in D.C., I found the entire set up rather meager. Two small tents, one for themed-merchandise and another for children activities, with an additional table for assistance regarding general information and proper viewing etiquette. There were about three or four food trucks and a medium-sized stage for (when I was present) children’s educational sing-a-longs. I stopped at a “SoCal” burger food truck and ordered a $12 Sakura burger. It was delicious. Not too greasy, and plenty of fixings. I could not complain, even at that price.
Perhaps it was my social anxiety, and perhaps it was just a consequential fact of circumstances, but it was hard to fully appreciate the blossoms. I came away more convinced that we need to be in a calm repose, one that comes over us in the bliss of solitude, to relish Nature’s infinite and ever-renewed blessings. It was somewhat difficult to cultivate a feeling of gratitude, let alone reverence, for these perfume-charmed gifts.
Having walked the perimeter of the Tidal Basin, it was still early afternoon. Surprisingly, my feet were hardly sore, and I was still full from lunch. With extra time to spare I decided to visit the National Gallery of Art.
