Winter has passed. And now, Spring arrives quickfooted. The day gets longer, the sun's diaphanous glows peeps through my curtains and warms my east-facing apartment. As the cold wind blew down the mountain lee, buds of white and pink appeared in scant patches, on trees that during winter had seemed dead. But in the still chill weather, its more like chance germinations of an unseasonal herb. Gradually, as the weather warms up, whole rows of trees turn a light shade of pink as they bud through the dark brown black bark, until at length the whole street is decorated in feather light cherryblossoms. Their blossoms honour us with their temporary presence, like an advance party to the warm spring weather and the other fuller blooms to come. Then, it takes not more than a week from start to finish for the ritual of shedding to transpire. The trees commense their metamorphosis almost at the same time; almost at once they are done and the trees are bare of flower. But by then, the other flowers have budded, flowers of richer and more vibrant colours like the plum blossom. And then, one morning, the sun rises and casts its warm rays over the world and spring has blossomed upon the land.

Audio: Something to talk about by Badly Drawn Boy on Virgin Radio UK.
Biblio: Hard-boiled Wonderland and The End of The World by Haruki Murakami.
Cerebrio: "We do it that way," says Haruki Murakami, the Gatekeeper of Japan, "and that is how it is. The same as the sun rishing in the east and setting in the west. Nobody but you cares. You just got here, though. You get used to living here, and things fall into place. You lose interest in them. Everybody does." Good god. What a scary idea for an ending.