Ode to an Eastern Spring

The best roomates I ever had were Japanese, and I went throught alot of roomates.
I found them while looking at a community board on my college campus.
It was one of those messy cork-board deals advertising everything from free kittens and used cars to students looking for rides to L.A.
My future roomate drew a picture of a crane on her posting. I was immediatley charmed, thinking: This looks serene.
I was right, serenity is BIG with the Japanese. They don't want any boat-rockers- never, ever.
I guess that's why I wasn't born in Japan. I'm one of those people who just can't shut up or leave well enough alone.
But I did learn (at least) three essential things from them: Love of tea; Long, long baths are good; and a certain type of subtle, delicate beauty that we fat, noisy Americans usually ignore on our frantic commute to world domination.
I'm talking, in part, about the cherry blossom; the ancient symbol of spring and new beginnings.
The cherry blossom is small and lovely. . . delicate, full of hope and innocence, not unlike Hello Kitty.
It's easy to appreciate big showy mountain-top views looking across miles of canyons and winding rivers at sunset, but it takes a finer intellect to stop and really inhale the beautiful and precious realm of the fleeting cherry blossom.

When I pass from this world, I will immediately apply for the job of painting butterfly wings and lizard scales.

Only tender souls will ever get the cherry blossom right.