Anthony's Literary Lens

Tag: cherry blossom

  • A Bird of Exquisite Taste?

    A Bird of Exquisite Taste?

    Have you ever seen a sight more captivating than a bullfinch perched amongst a cascade of cherry blossoms? They compliment each other divinely. The delicate blush of the petals, practically translucent in the spring sunlight, reflects in your breast like a masterpiece. You’re a feathered Monet, flitting from blossom to blossom, a tiny burst of colour in a world just waking from winter’s slumber.

    Bullfinch & Cherry Blossom
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    But listen up, you little charmer. That innocent facade doesn’t fool me for a second. I know your secret. 

    Beneath that adorable exterior lurks a truth as undeniable as the changing seasons: you’re a blossom-bud bandit, a destroyer of delicate dreams. 

    Here these cherry trees are, putting on a spectacular show, a celebration of spring’s arrival. They unfurl their petals, a promise of summer’s bounty. Tourists flock from far and wide to witness their fleeting beauty. And what are you doing? 

    You’re there, perched on a branch with the audacity of a feathered Robin Hood, stuffing your beak with the very buds that would become those breathtaking blossoms. You’re a horticultural highwayman, stealing the very essence of spring with each peck.

    Do you have any idea how much work goes into those buds, little buddy? How the tree meticulously stores energy all winter long, channelling it into those tiny packages of potential? 

    And you? You waltz in with your plump body and insatiable appetite, a feathered locust descending on a field of dreams.

    Look, I get it. Nature’s a cycle, survival of the fittest and all that. But couldn’t you just stick to the seeds that fall to the ground? Have a little respect for the artistry, each individual splash of beauty on display!

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    Petal rain falls soft,
    Cherry dreams devoured whole,
    Beauty’s sacrifice. 

    Anthony

    So next time you’re considering a blossom-bud breakfast, remember, you’re not just robbing a tree, you’re robbing us all of a fleeting moment of magic. 

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go enjoy the blossoms before they all become victims of your floral felony. Just try to keep your beak on the straight and narrow, alright?

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  • The Unfurls of Memory: A Meditation on Cherry Blossoms

    The Unfurls of Memory: A Meditation on Cherry Blossoms

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

    Anthony
    Spring

    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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