They looked on carelessly towards the fields of snow and the lake in the far distance. Or perhaps they were glancing at the fields of grass and talking about the green pines of the boxtree. And then someone asked me, "What's this?" I told him it was a wild cherry tree. Shortly afterwards they would fall into silence or discuss other matters, but in the end they would always come back to mention that wild cherry tree. It was always like this. The sun shone on the emerald mountains far and near. Outside of my window there was silence.

I probably first noticed that wild cherry tree at the beginning of last autumn. I had often seen it before but I never gave it much consideration. I noticed that its leaves were gradually beginning to turn yellow. Sometimes it was struck violently; the cold autumn weather was the cause. The color of the golden yellow leaves was reflected upon the green grass. It looked like stars giving off light across the sky in the black of the night.

The wild cherry tree began to drop its leaves. At first just a few leaves floated gently to the ground. Then, in a strong whirlwind the leaves suddenly flew off into the distance beyond my sight.

During the night, no matter what room I walked into I could hear the soughing of the wind in the pines, which sounded like roaring waves. The sounds were coming from the valley in the distance. What I couldn't determine was the direction of the large wind which had roamed across many capes and mountains. The wind shook the giant green pines and let out a fascinating howl as if carrying with it emotions of anger and pride. It roared violently down the side of the mountain.

I think that I have finally forgotten about that cherry tree in my dream which suddenly shook off all its leaves.

The next day I recalled that tree and rushed over to the window to take a look. All that I could see were bare branches standing silently in the great wind. There was neither a sound to be heard nor luster to be seen. The tree no longer moved about in its usual dancelike motion.

That wild cherry tree stood silently outside the window. This time it was as if I could see all of its luster and hear the musical sound of nature--a kind of sonorous and awe-inspiring beauty. A beauty that we can flatter and embrace--the Appassionata saved by us.

The small amount of snow that was left dropped from the branches of the tree.

The water on the ground reflected the white clouds under the sun. When the snow finally melted--actually spring was late--suddenly, in the rush of things, I found myself too busy to notice that new leaves had already covered the twigs of the tree. Its buds appeared nimble, brisk, and orderly.

That morning I stood by the window and received a phone call. I can't recall exactly what the other party was talking about. I don't care much for the falsehood and reality of human emotions and the truth and falsehood of concern. My eyes were fixed on that wild cherry tree and the space around it. Suddenly thin white dots began to float by my window. The white dots flew gently upwards and then separated upon descending. I stopped suddenly in the middle of the conversation and said, "It's snowing." The other person said that I was probably going crazy since it wasn't possible to snow in this kind of weather. It's not the right season for snow. After-wards I thought to myself, "It's impossible. That's not snow. It's pistils from the branches of the cherry tree blown about by the wind. So delicate, so moving. It couldn't be snow."

The cherry tree has already grown leaves under the heat of the scorching sun. The strong life is lifted high into the air in distinct stages. The result is just as I thought it would be. The tree is not the least bit shy or timid--even so as to spread in every direction. A thick shadow was cast on the ground and grew with the motion of the sun as it moved towards the center of the field. It's possible that they'll ask me, "What's this?" I've never felt bored being asked that. I'll answer, "It's a wild cherry tree. Its leaves fall, put forth shoots, bear blossoms, and reach full growth by summer."

Someone asked, "Why do you pay so much attention to the tree?"