The cherry blossoms get good press.  For many, they are the Jimi Hendrix of the spring flowers: virtuoso rock stars who come on stage and dazzle—then leave us all too soon.

Here in Japan, at least, they have the status of great tragic heroes. They are Juliet, so pure and passionate, then, at such a young age, gone.

When people say hanami party (hanami–literally, “viewing the flowers”), they are almost always thinking about the cherry blossoms.  No one I know, here in Shizuoka at least, has a hanami party sitting beside a tulip bed.

Do you know how to count the blossoms on a mature cherry tree? As far as I know, there is only one way.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!!!”

But a few days ago, as I commuted to work on my bicycle,  I could see, easily (anyone could), that the cherries weren’t the only ones out showing themselves off.

The cherries weren’t the only ones shining bright, for what (yes, they knew) would only be a short time.

The nichinichso.

The shaga.

The daffodils.

The camellias.

Not everyone puts the cherries above the camellias.

Not everyone puts the cherries above the na-no-hana.

And what about the harujion? Are they truly just weeds? Sure, maybe they need to comb their hair—but don’t they have their own sort of charm?

And the daisies—lord, what bad press they’ve gotten!  They make the soil soft and clean. They’re full of potasium, calcium, vitamins A, B, and C.

Maybe you’ve gotten the idea that you don’t like them. Maybe you don’t want them in your yard. That’s fine. But don’t tell me that the dandelion flowers are not beautiful. Don’t tell me that some of your children don’t think they are beautiful.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the cherry blossoms, too. I love them on a blue-sky day, and on a rainy day, too.

I just don’t like all this ranking. And all this ranking is probably the main reason why I’ve lost interest (for the most past, not completely, I admit) in competitve sports. Somebody beats somebody else 121-120, and somebody becomes the glorified champions of the universe—while somebody else becomes a footnote. They’re the losers. Maybe they even choked.

Choked 121-120.

Ranking is dividing. Dividing is divorce. Divorce, in all its meanings, is one of the worst—if not the worst—thing there is.

Nature is a Unitarian.

Anyway, when it comes to the dandelions, if you’re determined to exterminate them, you’d better have a pretty damned good plan.  They like living just as much as you—and they’re ready.