It is our last day in Tokyo as we visit the National Garden of Japan in Shinjuku. The garden sits within 15 minutes of our house. We didn’t visit before because of the cherry blossom festival. There were huge crowds and timed entry for weeks. Today, things are back to normal and we can walk right in.

The garden is delightful. (At least I think so. Gardens are my husband’s idea of a good time). We make a right turn and are walking on a secluded path along a stream and a series of ponds. I feel deep in the woods even though I know skyscrapers and the world’s largest train station are only blocks away.

Along the forest path, there are species of orchid that I have never seen before. Springtime in Japan holds delightful surprises. Ahead I can see a tea house sitting beside a manicured lake. The Japanese maple dips gracefully toward the water. It makes sense that the world’s most beautiful Japanese gardens are in Japan.

Surprisingly, the Sakura (cherry blossoms) are still beautiful. Many are falling, creating an ethereal pink snow. Standing in the grove of cherry trees is a once in a lifetime experience. I smile and turn my face to the sun and feel the sweet smelling petals kiss my face as they fall. My husband has been over the cherry blossom experience for weeks and walks on to sit and wait for my antics to play themself out. But first I walk among the colors: white, pale pink, light pink, dark pink.

I insist we walk the entire garden. The formal garden is a little disappointing after the glorious Japanese garden. But the avenue of bald English plane trees was fascinating. I assume they will eventually get leaves. Today they just look like someone gave them a really bad haircut.

We walk through greenhouses and I even get an opportunity to stroll through the Emperor’s summer rest house. Apparently strolling the garden required a nap and potentially a shower. Ah, the life of an emperor. I settle for an ice cream to revive me before we walk back to Shinjuku station.