The Unfurls of Memory: A Meditation on Cherry Blossoms

White whispers in green,
A fleeting dance, then silence,
Echoes of us all.

Anthony

The city was a canvas of green, dappled sunlight bleeding through the leaves of the park. There, amidst the sprawl of emerald, a single cherry blossom unfurled its petals. It was a stark white, almost luminous, with a blush of pink at the edges like a shy smile. It hung there, fragile and perfect, a whisper of impermanence in the heart of the bustling city.

This beauty, so mesmerising, was just passing. The cherry blossom’s life was measured in moments, a fleeting dance before succumbing to the inevitable silence of fallen petals. And in that transience, there was a stark reflection of our own mortality. We too, were but blossoms briefly blooming, destined to fade into the vast unknown.

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