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.)
— Isabella
Featured photo by Isabella Mori
I relate to that tree! And yes I too have blossomed this week in spite of my doubts of new growth. Nicely done Isabella.
Finally! I am answering you. And honouring you! I can’t actually see the haiku, but this tree shows “open heart” to me; “exposed; finding its centre; torn, unprotected like our world right now; victim; nature (lightning) not respecting its elders (the tree)…..
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Eloise – we posted the text as a text image and on some devices it turns out you can’t see it. I’ll send them to you.