A man sits alone one evening in Tokyo. He is waiting patiently for the blossom front update. He has followed the flowering forecast every year as it moves northward since he was a small boy.
As he sits, he contemplates how all the trees flower at different times depending on the sun's path around the buildings and the myriad of temples and shrines located across the city. The kanhizakura and its bell shaped flowers of pink, flushed tones the yamazakura, one of the oldest species of the blooms tree the fugenzo and how in late bloomers the leaves emerge before their flowers.
Throughout this time, the trees seem to carry him. It is a kind of floating practice. He imagines the great plants in the forestry of his own mind, the trees' distinct patterns in shape and form, their subtle shades and hues, and even the number of petals within each blossom, stacked on top of each other so delicately as if they were placed.
Just as quickly as the flowers bloom, they disappear. Snow petals drift, forming clusters of held lightness around the green earth and concrete floors.
And as the seasons change, he knows this may be his last.
Every spring, he'll return.
Snowpoet - Floating Practice Lyrics
Snowpoet - Floating Practice Lyrics
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A man sits alone one evening in Tokyo. He is waiting patiently for the blossom front update. He has followed the flowering forecast every year as it moves northward since he was a small boy.
As he sits, he contemplates how all the trees flower at different times depending on the sun's path around the buildings and the myriad of temples and shrines located across the city. The kanhizakura and its bell shaped flowers of pink, flushed tones the yamazakura, one of the oldest species of the blooms tree the fugenzo and how in late bloomers the leaves emerge before their flowers.
Throughout this time, the trees seem to carry him. It is a kind of floating practice. He imagines the great plants in the forestry of his own mind, the trees' distinct patterns in shape and form, their subtle shades and hues, and even the number of petals within each blossom, stacked on top of each other so delicately as if they were placed.
Just as quickly as the flowers bloom, they disappear. Snow petals drift, forming clusters of held lightness around the green earth and concrete floors.
And as the seasons change, he knows this may be his last.
Every spring, he'll return.
As he sits, he contemplates how all the trees flower at different times depending on the sun's path around the buildings and the myriad of temples and shrines located across the city. The kanhizakura and its bell shaped flowers of pink, flushed tones the yamazakura, one of the oldest species of the blooms tree the fugenzo and how in late bloomers the leaves emerge before their flowers.
Throughout this time, the trees seem to carry him. It is a kind of floating practice. He imagines the great plants in the forestry of his own mind, the trees' distinct patterns in shape and form, their subtle shades and hues, and even the number of petals within each blossom, stacked on top of each other so delicately as if they were placed.
Just as quickly as the flowers bloom, they disappear. Snow petals drift, forming clusters of held lightness around the green earth and concrete floors.
And as the seasons change, he knows this may be his last.
Every spring, he'll return.
Writer: Chris Hyson, Lauren Kinsella, Matthew Robinson
Copyright: Lyrics © Sentric Music
Copyright: Lyrics © Sentric Music