All things come to an end.

I was saying to a friend a while ago, "It must be so sad to be the person to clean up all the fallen cherry blossom petals after". I guess, in the moment I was reveling in the beauty of the cherry blossoms in full bloom, I had found it incredibly sad to think that it would all come to an end.

But there is a sort of elegance in it too. In things that are gone, things that are barely able to hang on, and things that remain.

I actually walked past two people one morning while they were sweeping up the petals on the staircase beside the park. They had set about it in a very routinely manner, and executed their work with a kind of vigour that, rather than emitting the kind of gloom I had imagined before, exuded a kind of vitality and matter-of-factness.

I suppose they were telling me that, as a matter of fact, life does goes on.