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| clear day |
Today is the first day of snow on Youtei-San. By the time I got up, the snow had melted. Autumn is here, says my homestay mother. Autumn is here, says the news reader on Niseko Radio. Autumn is here, says Hana as she barks outside the door to be let inside.
On my walk I see the leaves changing to yellow and red with the light of the sunset. A year has passed since I arrived in Japan and I'm strangely excited to be seeing the Kouyou 紅葉 again - the autumn colours - now that I understand more about life here in Japan. At least, I think I understand more than I did a year ago...
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| lunch? |
I think of Frances Hodgson Burnett (as you do...) and her description of those moments when you're alone and you come across a 'majestic' scene and 'you know you will live forever and ever'. But, in those moments, I think precisely the opposite . Only a week ago it was balmy summer and now summer has gone and I will never have a summer in Japan again. It's a sweet sadness, a melancholy, about how everything must change, and move onwards, and end. It's not about living forever, rather it's the realisation that everything will fade away. And that the fading away is not so bad, after all, because it can be beautiful, like the reddening, dying leaves are beautiful. Or the pink light of the setting sun is beautiful.
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| Hana peering down at me as I arrive back |
As me and homestay mother watch TV together, Hana pads around the living room, refusing to settle down and sleep. She looks forlorn and lost, her triangular ears pricked up, she sits down here, then there, waits by the door, then in the kitchen. T-San has fallen asleep in Hana's usual spot (I'm guessing it's a futon, not a kennel....) and Hana has no idea what to do with herself.
"What shall we do with you?" says my homestay mother, scratching her behind her ears. "What shall we do?"
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