The magnolia in the garden has started blooming. It is only an event repeated every spring, not dramatic nor exciting, for others. It still means special to me.
It reminds me of my parents who have planted it here and have enjoyed its growth and blooming every spring. I could not see it without remembering of my parents.
They have lived the hard time in WWII and the postwar period in poverty. They have struggled raisin us, 3 kids, in Tokyo. Eventually, they have been settled down at this place where they started own family. Looking at this tree or the other flower trees, they might have felt relieved at the end of their journey of life.
The other thought is a question how many times I could see it blooming. At my age, it is an earnest question. The more earnest the question is, the more I should cherish it, I believe.
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