A Faded Memory

I have lived away from my childhood home now for ten years. I grew up in the middle of nowhere, amidst a sprawling forest and in the safe arms of hills. The house that I grew up in was surrounded by mature trees on top of a hill. It was a great yard with several paths, a snow hill, and different types of trees. My favorite was in the middle of the circle of road. My mother called it a Japanese rose bush, but I am not sure that is what it was. Every spring it would bloom with the most beautiful and fragrant pink flowers for about a week or so, before they would shed all over the yard. My best friend and I would pick them up, throwing them in the air like we were flower girls in a wedding while my cats rolled around in them. The flowers were like a bit of magic that didn't stay around long, but it mesmerized me.

I had forgotten about the tree, and as I was taking a walk on my break at work, I was thinking about the cherry blossom season in Japan. Why did I like sakura so much? My answer was in my childhood, in those memories of looking forward to those blossoms for all my childhood until I moved away.

Strange how memories that once ran so deep in me appear like small discoveries about how I am becoming what I am meant to be.

Natasha

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