As the sun goes down, its rays hit the pink flowers of the blossom tree, declaring their beauty. This age-old tree has been growing on my block for as long as I can remember. For most of the year its blossoms are no more than little buds. But every year, for about one or two weeks, the coveted tree shines with pink radiance. Why must these flowers only come out for such a short period of time?

            This was the week that the blossoms bloomed. My sisters and I climbed the tree’s branches and marveled at the magnificence surrounding us, occasionally picking flowers to put in our hair. During this short week, we would spend most of our time outside, playing around the tree. We dreaded going to school. “Why must we go?” we always asked our mother. She just smiled, not understanding our love for this tree that only blooms but once a year. So off to school we went, only to race back to the tree the second we got off the bus.

            The blooms are now gone. The remains of petals lay strewn across the grass, like a last gift to the children who had so tenderly loved this tree. My youngest sister cried, her tears splashing on pink petals. But I knew better. This wasn’t a funeral, but a “see you later”. I knew that around this time next year, those blossoms would be back with as much splendor as ever. So instead of weeping, I just turned my heel and waved, “Goodbye, Ms. Cherry Blossom. Same place next year?”