Sunday, March 18, 2007
cherry blossoms
Ladies and gentlemen, I request a few minutes of your time. Turn off your televisions, unplug your phones, and switch on that seldom-used little organ -- the imagination.
Pretend you are a 20-something year old girl, very smart, very beautiful, and a tad reserved. You live in your own sandswept little seashell, and few things help you emerge from it. One of your favourite things is nature, and among your favourite things in nature are trees. One day, you and this girl you know who kinda-sorta-likes-you but you probably don't know it yet are shopping in some hellish little mall in the US of A when you spot a beautiful little framed photograph of a single tree on a hillside. But, out of peer pressure from your hard-shopping friends, you decide not to buy it.
Fast forward two months. It is your birthday. Your best friend and sometime lover has just left for her homeland halfway across the Pacific Ocean. You're sad. The girl who kinda-sorta-likes-you not only remembers your special day, but remembers that you like trees. She also remembers that you liked that photo of a tree on a hillside. She also remembers that cherry blossoms are among your favourite things. A cherry blossom is the sort of image you're willing to permanently engrave on your skin. It reminds you of your ancestors, perhaps. It reminds you of serenity.
This girl who kinda-sorta-likes-you spends some time taking photos of the prettiest cherry blossom tree she can find, in full bloom, in the rainiest, most Noah's Arkesque Vancouver springtime. She develops said photo the old-fashioned way, onto paper. She has said photo framed, simply, on a white background. She hopes it will match the Japan-like Zen of your little garden suite.
And she gives it to you on your birthday.
Now tell me friends, would this impress you?
We now return you to your regularly-scheduled programming.
-N
