I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely ...

The cherry blossoms are in full glory. They explode on trees that, until that moment, looked dead. The pink-white flowers cling to the branches and fall like soft snowflakes with every breath of wind. If you haven't seen this then, my friend, you have not lived.

The tradition of cherry blossom festivals is nearly as old as Japan itself. As far back as the tale of Genji, written in the 11th century but set much earlier, the Japanese have attended festivals and viewing parties in honor of those small pink-white flowers. This year Grant and I joined them.

On Saturday we took the train to southern Yokohama to visit the Shomyoji Temple. The gate of the temple stood in the middle of a residential area, near a cemetery and a couple of hundred km from the beach.

People clumped around the entrance wielding cameras. I stopped with them. Just inside the gate was an amazing tree - it stood only about four feet tall and was weeping bunches of flowers, some baby pink, some magenta.

Behind that a corridor of cherry blossom trees led to the temple's inner gate. Pink lanterns hung between the trees, offsetting the pink in the flowers. Beneath the flowers a crowd swarmed. The air smelled like candy and baked goods.

Grant and I set off through the throng. The corridor was lined with restaurants, tiny craft shops, and a single small shrine with a small cherry tree bending over it. Vendors had set up booths in every available patch of land between the trees.

At the end we found the main gate, guarded by two impressive statues behind wooden screens. Behind that, we saw a beautiful red, arch bridge. The kind you expect to see in traditional Asian gardens. A red carpet cut down the middle and ropes blocked off both sides. We thought some kind of ceremony must be coming, though we never saw it.

Instead we walked around the koi pond to the main temple building, where the more pious climbed the stairs to ring the bell and pray. A hill to one side and field to the other were covered with blankets and picnickers. And over their heads these flowers, more beautiful than any I had ever seen, and the petals blowing on the breeze.

We had our own cherry blossom festival here on base - more about that tomorrow.

I leave you today with a quote from Gunther Klinge a Bavarian who wrote in the ancient Japanese Haiku style:

"Who are we really

from one minute to the next?

Cherry flowers fall."