Kyoto's Gion
She glides her bicycle to a stop by the railing. Leaning it against the railing, she gets off and approaches the shop, shivering.
“Good evening,” she calls out.
“Good evening,” the elderly shopkeeper says.
“You have sold out?” her disappointment is evident.
“Well, I knew you would come, so I kept one for you,” the old lady says, walking to a corner of her small shop.
“Really? That’s wonderful!” She pulls off her gloves as the old lady returns with a rice cake, with sweet sauce drizzled over it. She proceeds to wrap a piece of seaweed around it before handing it over.
“Thank you, thank you,” she says as she receives it. She bites into it.
“Is it delicious?”
She nods and puts a hand over her mouth, “It is, it is.”
She stares dreamily into the night sky as she continues, “It’s the nicest thing to have on a cold night, something to warm the heart…”
She turns back to the old lady. “By the way, how did you know I was coming?”
The old lady smiles. “Your father told me.”
She does not say a word, but looks away.
Not far away, a little girl of perhaps five sits on a bench, wrapped in her coat, with earmuffs. She nibbles on her piece of rice cake, her legs swinging in a gentle rhythm.
Her father sitting beside her says aloud, “It’s the nicest thing to have on a cold night like this, isn’t it?”
The little girl nods and smiles happily.
She can’t help but smile too.
The elderly lady must have caught her smile. “It’s time for you to forgive him, isn’t it?”
This is written for Kyoto. I can still remember that evening spent in Gion vividly. Wandering around, browsing the shops, smelling incense, eating the rice cake, savouring the raw taste of the noodles and roe, Gion somehow captured my heart in a way I never expected it to. To me, Kyoto is a place full of history. Sometimes I wonder if she prefers to be left alone, instead of constantly having to receive visitors from everywhere. In a place like Kyoto, one cannot help but contemplate and reminisce about the past. Like how Kyoto must have reflected on her old days as the imperial capital. Ultimately, one comes to terms with the past and gets on with life. Like those people playing by the Kamogawa, like the maiko hurrying in Gion, like that elderly shopkeeper gushing about the Hanshin Tigers. Like Kyoto. I can’t help, but be moved by her beauty and elegance.
“Good evening,” she calls out.
“Good evening,” the elderly shopkeeper says.
“You have sold out?” her disappointment is evident.
“Well, I knew you would come, so I kept one for you,” the old lady says, walking to a corner of her small shop.
“Really? That’s wonderful!” She pulls off her gloves as the old lady returns with a rice cake, with sweet sauce drizzled over it. She proceeds to wrap a piece of seaweed around it before handing it over.
“Thank you, thank you,” she says as she receives it. She bites into it.
“Is it delicious?”
She nods and puts a hand over her mouth, “It is, it is.”
She stares dreamily into the night sky as she continues, “It’s the nicest thing to have on a cold night, something to warm the heart…”
She turns back to the old lady. “By the way, how did you know I was coming?”
The old lady smiles. “Your father told me.”
She does not say a word, but looks away.
Not far away, a little girl of perhaps five sits on a bench, wrapped in her coat, with earmuffs. She nibbles on her piece of rice cake, her legs swinging in a gentle rhythm.
Her father sitting beside her says aloud, “It’s the nicest thing to have on a cold night like this, isn’t it?”
The little girl nods and smiles happily.
She can’t help but smile too.
The elderly lady must have caught her smile. “It’s time for you to forgive him, isn’t it?”
This is written for Kyoto. I can still remember that evening spent in Gion vividly. Wandering around, browsing the shops, smelling incense, eating the rice cake, savouring the raw taste of the noodles and roe, Gion somehow captured my heart in a way I never expected it to. To me, Kyoto is a place full of history. Sometimes I wonder if she prefers to be left alone, instead of constantly having to receive visitors from everywhere. In a place like Kyoto, one cannot help but contemplate and reminisce about the past. Like how Kyoto must have reflected on her old days as the imperial capital. Ultimately, one comes to terms with the past and gets on with life. Like those people playing by the Kamogawa, like the maiko hurrying in Gion, like that elderly shopkeeper gushing about the Hanshin Tigers. Like Kyoto. I can’t help, but be moved by her beauty and elegance.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home