Out of all the beautiful things in the world, out of all the boys and seasons and animals, nothing pleased the king more than her cherry blossom tree. It stood gracefully and powerful in her yard. The teal-algae like spots on the tree were beautiful accents, and the branches extended far. The king loved this tree, a lovely nostalgic piece of her childhood from which she climbed on.
Hung from a big branch was a rope connected to a board. A makeshift rope swing. It hurt her legs.
It had the best shade in the summer, the most beautiful leaves in fall, and a peaceful stance in winter.
But as soon as the first warm breezes entered, the tree's flowers appeared.
Small, light pink flowers grew in bunches on the tree. It put her in a calm trance, the beauty was amazing. They were there for a week.
One week of fifty-two was far too little for the king.
But if those flowers were there longer, would it no longer be a treat? Would it have been abused and it's true beauty kicked to the curb?
She was glad it was one week.
And that week she would treasure those flowers. And she watched as the petals flowed in the breeze and flew away.
And she continued to treasure it seasons later. And around again came young spring. And there it came. Those magnificent cherry blossoms who held the secret of beauty.
