With Lufthansa in the title I assume this is a German AAR. However I would have associated cherry blossoms with Japan. Never mind.
This is a World AAR, the title isabstract. No one nation will be the focus, all events and lots of personal events and details. As I said, the title is very abstract, and will reveal itself in good time.
Not to worry, I'm used to your cherry blossom obsession.
You are very ambitious Humpers, what is this? Your fourth ongoing AAR now?
Well you know, ambition here, duty there. I hope everyone enjoys this AAR (if it can be called that, for its more of a story really, and there is no one nation the focus.). Enjoy
I.
The sun had quite unexpectedly reappeared from behind the cloud, allowing the rays of the sun to penetrate down though the lush foliage of the garden, the reflections slowly warping and changing as the fish disturbed the tepid water. A few lilly petals floated lazily around on this sunny afternoon, as young Takeshi sat on a low canvas chair, carefully inking his next series of writings. For although he was only 18 years of age, his writings had already received serialization in the nations largest papers, and it was rumoured that his works had even been read by the emperor himself. His greatest work in progress, the
”The Winds of Change” spanned twenty of the most turbulent years of the 20th century, and his father, the great traveller and writer had seen almost every aspect of those years. From Cathay to the Americas, from the Alps to the Urals to Mt Fuji, the young Takeshi's work would be the masterpiece of western and eastern literature.
”The Winds of Change”, as he initially set out, was to document the people, stories and histories of the past turbulent 20 years, from around the world. His father had volumes of notes, documents and facts stored away in the family library, as well as the untapped power of his own brain. Takeshi's contemporaries said he was mad, and even his dear beloved mother had warned that his undertaking was far to grand for someone so young in years, however his mind was set on it, and he would see it through.
His father, with beads of sweet beginning to appear on his face, was down on his knees, with a small set of garden trimmers, clipping the edges of the grass around the small shrine at the edge of the garden. He loved his garden, and now that he was official retired, he spent almost all the time showering love and attention on his pride. He carefully rolled his sleeves up and wiped his hand on his brow, the sweet glistening slightly as it momentarily was hit by sunlight. His straw hat hid his face from the strongest of the sun and he carefully went back to his clipping, almost making sure every blade of grass and every plant was just right, he proved it possible for an entire garden to be a work of art. The young Takeshi had hit a mental block, unable to follow on from the zenith of the 11th chapter, which was concerned with the outbreak of the second world war in September 1939. He could not decide whether he should focus on the campaigns of the Eastern or Western fronts, and the subsequent German successes of that year. He set his pen and paper down on the small cane table that sat beside him and strolled through the garden, observing the immaculate features. The young Takeshi open the large mahogany doors of the family library, and wandered through families library, his fingers running across the spines of countless volumes. He found the book he was looking for, but a faded photograph in caught his eye.
His father appeared many years younger, with only a few hints of grey beginning to appear on his head. He stood with with to men he recognised, but could not put names to. As he held the photograph in his hand, and trying to find the names of the other two men, he heard his father step into the Library.
“Ah, you found that photograph. That was taken in 1940, that was Prime Minister Churchill, and President Roosevelt, before the great troubles began, we stood together on that day like old friends. Winston will be arriving at the end of the month, and I believe he is very interested in your work son.” Takeshi's father said as he put his hand on his sons shoulder. His mother came in carrying a tray with small cups of tea on it, setting it down on a stack of old volumes, and then shuttling off back to the innards of the household. The young Takeshi was left by his father who returned to the garden, but instead to read the newspaper that had just arrived with the morning mail. The headlines were concerned with home affairs, and he casually perched his small half reading glasses on his nose and pursued the stories of day. Meanwhile inside, the young Takeshi opened a letter from his publishers, his face slowly turning from apprehension to joy. He ran outside, waving the letter in his hand, his father calmly and casually turning his attention away from the newspaper, and towards his son.
“Father, I have to go to Tokyo. I must conclude the deal for the publisher, and it would allow be ample time to sample the delights of the Imperial War Museum and the archives. I shall call taxi when I have packed.”
“That is good news. I wish for your works to be published, for it will enlighten the world.” Takeshi's father said. They were given an a lavish apartment by the government, however his father preferred the family house in the prefecture, which allowed him to have a garden and a proper house, the apartment was newly built, as was most of Tokyo after the torture and destruction suffered during the war, however it was a phoenix rising from the ashes, and all the buildings and structures were newly designed and built, combining the latest techniques but with some degree of traditional value and styling.
The apartment was modern, but hardly used, except on business or when an engagement in Tokyo was to last over night or for a few days. The young Takeshi only used when he needed as he, like his father liked the garden and openness. His small suitcase was already packed and awaiting at the end of his bed, and his mother telephoned the private taxi company that would take him to the apartment. As he left, and slowly drew away, he could sometimes still observe the scars of war across the countryside, or perhaps he was imagining. He could remember the wailing sirens and the drone of the aircraft, but that was in the past, and soon his thoughts drifted to Tokyo, and the people he would see again. For now his mind was at peace, thinking of only the garden and his writing, two of the most important things in his life.