Nobody told the flowers to come up nobody
Will ask them to leave when spring’s gone
(Ikkyū Sōjun [1394–1481], Japanese Zen master and poet; transl. S. Berg)
Bursting with colour and scent, the flowers bloom every year; and every year they wilt and fade yielding to unshakable order. And who knows, maybe it is their very acquiescence that produces the most brilliant act of defiance when, oblivious of the impermanence of things, they shamelessly display a profusion of colour, completely unasked for?
Top to bottom, left to right: Kawase Hasui, View of an Azalea Garden and Mt. Fuji, 1935 [source]; Kawase Hasui, Two Young Women Strolling in an Azalea Garden, 1935 [source]; Kawase Hasui, View of an Azalea Garden from a Verandah, 1935 [source]; Toshi Yoshida, Silver Pavilion, Kyoto, 1951 [source]; Toshi Yoshida, A Friendly Garden: Plum Tree, Bamboo, Pine, 1980 [source].
