Early last week I took a ride through Cherry Blossom Land. Over 5000 trees were in full bloom. It was like floating through a sky full of clouds in every imaginable shade of pink. Clouds that shouted ‘Spring is here at last!’

I had been waiting for the blossoming since the first warm day in February. Longing for it on those dreary days of January. Looking forward to it since the very first cold day in November.

In November, I began planning a wedding ceremony for my nephew and niece, Marc and Megan. We started a Google document, and began fleshing it out. We were in no hurry at all. We had so much time. Every so often a new idea would come to our minds and we would make changes to the file. Two weeks ago we got together to finalize the plan.

This past Sunday, I was honored to be the holder of space at their marriage. We stood at the front of a room full of love, paid respect to our dearly missed dearly departed, and brought the whole place to tears with our own freely flowing. Then we danced the night away.

There was a moment on the dance floor when an older song was playing, I looked at the beautiful bride, as she moved on the floor with deliberate steps, a fierce intensity in her eyes, fists punching into the air, and I saw myself, 33 years ago, in a big white dress, dancing furiously with my friends at my wedding. It felt like it was just yesterday.

Yesterday was my last day of teaching yoga for the school year, at one of my schools. Deep breaths. Strong warriors. Balanced Trees. Raucous laughter. And a few calm, peaceful moments here and there. I have been guiding these particular students since the leaves were changing color in late September.

On my way to teach them for this last time, I commuted through Cherry Blossom Land yet again. Most of the flowers have fallen. Most of the pink petals are on the ground. Green leaves are growing in their place.

There is no way to keep the flowers in bloom. No way to slow the passing time. Presence of mind is the closest we can come.

Taking photos is a vain attempt to stop the clock. But I have been scrolling through my phone since Sunday. Committing those photos to a memory that I didn’t make in the moment.

The moments come, and go. The plans come to fruition, and come to pass. Like the flowers, like the green leaves, like people, like breath.

Inhale joy. Exhale…

…I know there is a word (or words) for this feeling in Japanese. In German. The deep desire to mark a joyful moment in time, while sadly knowing full well that it cannot be marked. It cannot be held. Not even for one second. I still try. I close my eyes.

I can close my eyes and be on the dance floor last Sunday, or in May of 1993. I can be sitting under a fully blossoming tree last week, or years ago with people who are no longer alive. I can conjure up the images, flashing, floating, flowering.

The flowers on my dogwood tree are in full bloom today.