Guest post by Isabella Mori
Instalment #3 of not-so-pretty cherry blossom haiku: Every day I spend at Historic Joy Kogawa House, I sit at a desk that looks directly at the famous cherry tree in the backyard. It probably won’t survive much longer. In the storm last winter, a big branch broke off, leaving a lesion that brought irreversible trauma. For the longest time, I asked myself, will it even bloom? In the beginning, I couldn’t make out whether those were small buds I saw or just – I don’t know – pieces of moss? The arthritic gnarls of an old body? But then those gnarls started filling out, and suddenly, after I was away for a few nights, I came back to big fat white snowballs of blossoms. Will this be the last year? Will I be the last writer to see these blossoms?
Also, please, if you have the time and inclination, join me for a workshop on haiku and history this coming Sunday.
(And if you’re hungry for more cherry blossoms, check out the virtual offerings by the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival.)
Featured photo by Isabella Mori