Cherry Blossoms
By: Ethan Lalonde

The sky was a myriad of colours, the sun slowly sinking below the horizon. Nagakuri Yamamato walked across the balcony of his grand palace and leaned against the ornately carved railing. He watched the thin, wispy clouds roll across the ever darkening sky. He did not envy them, the clouds. Destined by fate to go wherever the wind might take them, never truly having a place to call home. Nagakuri sighed, his brown eyes softening as his gaze turned from the colourful sky above to the peaceful orchard below. It was there that his beloved cherry blossom trees stood, their branches swaying gently in the light summer breeze. Through this orchard wound a small, rippling brook; its water, clear as glass, was painted gold by the setting sun. His thin lips came together in a smile as he watched the small, pink petals dance to the brook's melody, the last of the day's light causing them to shimmer elegantly.
Slowly, the warm summer evening became crisp and cool; the light of the sun gave way to that of the moon and millions of tiny stars. Nagakuri watched with a calm expression as several of his servants entered the courtyard with candles in their hands. They tread carefully through the orchard, using their candles to light the paper lanterns that hung amongst the trees. Those lanterns would illuminate the trees in the late evening; an eternal dance of shadow and fire would be performed upon a stage of milky-pink blossoms.
Despite the sense of peace the orchard brought him, Nagakuri's heart ached with a deep sadness. For he had been called to the battlefield; forced to uphold the family name through blood and blade. He was to serve in the Western Army under the command of Ishida Mitsunari and repel Tokugawa Ieyasu's Eastern Army. He would have to make a long journey to rendezvous with his regiment, then continue on to Sekigahara from there. He was torn apart inside, for he would miss the shower of blossoms that the early autumn had promised him. How he despised war.
Nagakuri gazed upon his beloved orchard for a moment longer then, with a sigh, turned around. He brushed his long, black ponytail behind his back and smiled at the sight of his wife. She stood in the doorway to their bedroom, lamp in hand; her petite body looking mysterious and beautiful in the light of the fire.

"It is late, Nagakuri, "she whispered, her eyes shining."Why not come inside?"

"Hitomi," he murmured, looking into her luminous green eyes. "I was just admiring the blossoms."

"My husband," she smiled, taking on a mischievous look as her eyes roamed over Nagakuri's lithe, muscular form. " you may look at your blossoms when you return. But for now, my love, let us spend your last night at home together..."

The warrior smiled affectionately at his wife and walked towards her. With a tender gaze she took his hand and followed him into their bedroom. Nagakuri slid the door closed then turned around, his eyes widening. Hitomi stood in the middle of the exotically decorated room, her kimono pooled at her feet. His eyes, dark with desire, danced over her pale, radiant skin, his hunger growing. He moved close to her, her cherry-red lips pressing against his own. Then, in one swift movement, Nagakuri swept his wife up into his arms and moved towards the bed. The couple slipped under the silken covers and lay down in each other's arms for a night of incense and ecstasy.

* * * *

Hitomi stood upon the balcony of her husband's palace; much in the same way he had the previous night. She watched, her eyes dim and rimmed with tears, as he strapped his supplies to the saddle and mounted his large, black stallion. It was a dismal day with gray, rolling clouds, and a cold, biting wind. A long, thunderous boom broke the silence as the servants threw open the gate, the large oak doors crashing against the tall, stone walls that surrounded the palace.
Nagakuri kicked his heels against his horse's flanks and steered it at a trot towards the gate. Upon reaching that threshold, the warrior turned around. He did not look up to bid farewell to the woman who was his wife, nor did he look upon his beautiful, ornate palace. Instead he gazed upon his beloved cherry blossoms, a look of agony on his face. His shoulders slumped and, instead of assuming the air of one who was a high-ranking soldier, he took on the air of one who had wasted their whole life chasing a foolish dream.
With one last sigh, Nagakuri Yamamato turned around and rode out of the palace. There was another earthshaking boom, and the gates closed behind him. Hitomi stood staring at the gate for many long moments; all she heard was the sound of her heart breaking. Then she turned her gaze, full of hatred, upon the cherry blossoms. After many long moments her hatred subsided and she assumed the same air her husband had when gazing upon that orchard, the air of one who had wasted their whole life chasing a foolish dream. Then, like her tears, the blossoms began to fall, and it was the most hideous sight she had ever seen.