The Blossoms

As the sun scattered light rays over the water, the lake glistened brightly on one beautiful spring morning. Above the lake, the geese formed a chorus line and dashed across the water, splashing down one by one, like kids at a summer camp’s beachfront. An adolescent eagle circling overhead plummeted for the trout in the lake but came up empty when the fish dove for safety. The eagle circled again heading for the weeping cherry tree on the nearby shore and peered at the water for another fish or bird, before once more taking flight and heading for its home in the cedar tree on the other side of the lake.

The weeping cherry tree had stood in front of the Riverside Lake for 20 years. Every spring for just a month or so, delicate and elegant flowers transformed the tree into a flowering aromatic charm. People came from miles around to take pictures and gaze at its beauty and inhale the aroma of the flowers, a symbol of living aromatherapy. The Riverside Neighborhood Beautification Project twenty years ago had planted eleven weeping cherry trees, spaced a perfect 15 feet apart. Not long after they were planted, an unknown thief had dug up and stolen ten. There was the only remaining tree left, and the Riverside neighborhood watch protected it jealously. For the first few years after the theft, neighbors took turns standing guard by the tree. Now, remote cameras and sensors secured it.

A woman, in her mid-forties, French braids with flowers decorating her freshly styled light-brown hair, approached the tree, paused, and looked up at it. “Remember me?” she asked, her hesitant footsteps matching her shaky voice. Directing her voice to the cherry blossoms, she said. “It’s that time of year again when I feel alive.” She paused and deeply inhaled the cherry scent. Continuing, she said, “he’ll be here. I just know it.” She turned and walked to a bench near the lake and sat down. While she sat and waited, the seagulls skimmed across the water and fluffy white clouds covered and uncovered the sun. Glancing at the lake, she sighed deeply and twirled the dove-shaped, silver-coated ring on her right-hand – the only other sign of her impatience.

While the woman sat quietly contemplating the lake, a young Native American couple strolled by. He carried a wooden whicker picnic basket, and she held a multi-colored well used blanket. Setting the basket down, he took the blanket from her and spread it out under the weeping cherry tree. They both gracefully knelt on the blanket, and she began to unpack it. A tall man, he carried himself with a straight back, and a firm jaw. His long black hair framed his freshly shaved face. Head on, he looked ordinary, but as he turned sideways, he had a striking actor-like bearing. His wife, a petite woman, had equally long, flowing black hair and long colorful, dangling earrings. She set out the food and put the picnic basket to the side, and then she gazed up at him.

He returned her longing look. “Next year,” he said. “We’ll be settled down, maybe start a family.”

She blushed and busied herself with putting the food on the paper plates. “How many kids do you want?” she asked.

“Lots,” he said, and planted a kiss on her mouth. He pointed to an elderly couple slowly walking around the lake, holding hands, and occasionally stopping to kiss. “We’re going to be like that,” he said. “Old and in love.” She giggled.

The woman sitting on the bench smiled to herself as she saw the young couple kissing under the weeping cherry tree. She remembered what it was like twenty years ago.

Just then, a young boy, about ten years old, and his dog, a small Jack Russell Terrier, trotted by. The small dog tugged at the leash, and it looked like he was walking the boy, rather than the boy walking the dog. “Come on, Jackie,” the boy said. “We don’t want to go back to dog school.” As if understanding, the dog stopped yanking on the leash and calmly walked alongside, tail curled up. The boy called out, “Good boy, you’re the best.” The dog threw himself on the boy, and they both tumbled to the ground, the dog showering the boy with kisses. “Stop it! Stop it!” The boy protested but hugged the dog; his arms wrapped around the dog’s neck. The two wrestled for a bit before sauntering on down the path and out of sight.

The woman smiled to herself, thinking about their first-born child and the bond he had with their dog. She looked down at her freshly manicured hands and remembered when they first met at the lake. The Riverside Neighborhood Beautification Project had planted the weeping cherry trees and organized a spring gathering. She sat on driftwood by the bonfire on Riverside Lake’s beach, the firelight dancing in her blue eyes. A handsome young Marine strode over and sat beside her. He said later that when he first saw her, her smile mesmerized him. She, a kindergarten schoolteacher, looked into his deep brown eyes and instantly trusted him. They stayed up all night talking, and in two weeks the local justice of the peace married them.

She shook herself out of her memories and watched as two ducks popped up out of the water. They swam side-by-side in harmony, and in synchronicity they both submerged their heads back into the water. Then, down the pathway, she spotted him. He marched with long, quick strides. Wearing his Marine’s uniform, his haircut looked newly trimmed, shaved, and combed over, his pants neatly pressed to Marine standards. As he grew closer, she saw the twinkle in his eye.

Standing up, she embraced him. “I’m glad you came,” she said.

“You remembered,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

“I never forget,” she whispered. “It’s our special day.” She thought back to that day twenty years ago when the neighborhood had first celebrated the weeping cherry trees, and when he had whispered those special words, “will you marry me?”

She had gasped in surprise and had hugged him tight. He then placed the dove-shaped ring on her finger, and it had stayed every day since then. Even after twenty years of marriage, they surprised each other with something new. And, every year they came to the lake separately. Neither one reminded the other, and no matter where they both were or what they were doing, they found a way to come to the lake and greet each other as if it was the first time. Under the weeping cherry tree, they breathed in her sweet fragrance, and it was if the blossoms blessed them for another year.

He picked up her right hand. “My love,” he said. He kissed her hand, and then gently held her in his arms. He was a little older now, but she felt the strength in his grip. Squeezing her hand, he whispered, “I’ve got you. I feel alive now.” Together they strolled out of the weeping cherry tree’s sight. As they passed, the seagulls fell silent, and the squirrels stopped chattering.

Once they were gone, the weeping cherry tree blossoms fluttered in the breeze as if the tree were saying, “I’m here, and I feel alive.” The aroma from the cherries grew a bit stronger as it stood as a witness to love.