I don't remember when it began, but a few crabapple trees appeared in my yard. They took over the space where I grew roses and spread wildly, so I could never plant roses again. But one day the crabapples bloomed: white crabapples, drooping crabapples... white, pink, red... From then on, I grew deeply attached to them. I spent every day among the crabapples, never tiring of their company. One year, two years, three years... ten years... It was one summer, after the crabapple blossoms had long since faded. A cicada came from somewhere, calling "cicada, cicada" all day long. Since she had landed on a crabapple branch, I took an interest in her, too. Year after year, the cicada returned. The sky was always sunny when she arrived, and autumn winds blew bleakly when she left. Winter must be coming! Suddenly I heard a cicada chirp, just once, and felt as if I'd lost something. It turned out I had fallen in love with that cicada long ago, but only realized it in winter. I wait for summer, for her to land again in my yard, on the crabapple branch. If the cicada never comes back, I can only blame myself for being too slow to notice and too late to respond. It was a brilliant, fleeting season! What I fear most is that someone will move those crabapple trees. I didn't plant them myself, but they have accompanied me through every spring, listened to all my innermost thoughts, and watched countless sunrises and sunsets with me. I've brushed raindrops from their petals. I've built them shade in the blazing sun. In the pitch-black night, whose loneliness made us talk at length? After a night of drinking and despair, whose helplessness made me unable to leave? I love the crabapples. My love is tenderness, reluctance to part, and good wishes. I love the cicada. My love is buried deep, unwilling to accept, and full of longing. To me, the crabapples are confidantes and friends. The cicada is the one I want to spend my life with, the one I love!
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