A friend from Tod’s office organised a late-season hanami party at a Komaba park in Meguro-ku, about 40 minutes on the subway from our house.
It was a beautiful day. Cherry blossoms fluttered from the trees; breezes caused a flurry of floral snow. Our picnic spread represented all our nationalities–American, Canadian, Indian, British, Dutch, Middle Eastern–but was soon dotted with uniform, unintentional, pink garnishes.
The only disappointment of the day came at 4:20 when announcement to park visitors gave a ten-minute closing warning. We unwillingly packed up our picnic and headed home.
