Cherry Blossom Forest

Petals in the wind, what a pretty picture they paint. Tributes have to climb upward to find the source of them, follow the rising path or clamber up the wet stones to find the edge of the forest. Red arches loom tall where the path meets the trees, the water around giving way to wet rock giving way to packed earth, the cherry trees root system holding everything together. At first, fog bounces against this invisible line in the arena, hiding the way through the trees, but once it clears, it’s a swirl of pinks and whites. The forest is littered with falling blossoms, a slow untangling, thousands adrift along the skyline. They collect under hopeful feet, kiss the tribute's cheeks, gossamer thin sweetness. It feels like waking up, watching the petals fall like a curtain. A singular wide path made of stones overgrown by grass and earth meanders its way through the trees, which cluster and clear around smaller pre-beaten paths offshooting like spider webs. Small lanterns line the edges, lighting the path, so one may even find their way in the dark.