蛍 or maybe, 螢
Hiroko-Sensei, the Japanese teacher, decided to postpone tonight's lesson in favour of firefly viewing up in the mountains east of Wakayama City. Some Japanese folk tales hold that ほたる (Hotaru - fireflies) are the souls of the dead.
The dead have beautiful souls.
Because:
In the mountains at night, above the river running along between ricefields on this side and cedar covered mountains barely visible under a shy sliver of お月様 (moon) on the other. Seeing the tiny glows of fireflies for the first time and listening to the frogs and cicadas and the repeated sighs of '奇麗’ ('pretty') from Japanese who must experience this every year.
Is nice.
And the night and the warm and heavy air and the fire in the fly's insides hid anything I wanted them to so that, for a couple of hours, Japan was everything I thought it really must be back when I was a kid wanting to be Mifune Toshiro.
And for this I would have whispered thanks to the firefly I held for a short moment (a firefly held in the hands is called 'Genji Hotaru'. No one knew why. Something to do with 'Genji Monogatari'. Probably a reference to some stunt he pulled in an attempt to get laid) had it not been released and flown into the path of a Toyota, upon the windscreen of which it glowed briefly fierce.
Ah, there was beauty in that death, sad though it was.
The dead have beautiful souls.
Because:
In the mountains at night, above the river running along between ricefields on this side and cedar covered mountains barely visible under a shy sliver of お月様 (moon) on the other. Seeing the tiny glows of fireflies for the first time and listening to the frogs and cicadas and the repeated sighs of '奇麗’ ('pretty') from Japanese who must experience this every year.
Is nice.
And the night and the warm and heavy air and the fire in the fly's insides hid anything I wanted them to so that, for a couple of hours, Japan was everything I thought it really must be back when I was a kid wanting to be Mifune Toshiro.
And for this I would have whispered thanks to the firefly I held for a short moment (a firefly held in the hands is called 'Genji Hotaru'. No one knew why. Something to do with 'Genji Monogatari'. Probably a reference to some stunt he pulled in an attempt to get laid) had it not been released and flown into the path of a Toyota, upon the windscreen of which it glowed briefly fierce.
Ah, there was beauty in that death, sad though it was.
posted by pik at 23:09
2 Comments:
Some Japanese folk tales hold that ほたる (Hotaru - fireflies) are the souls of the dead.
The dead have beautiful souls.
Because:
In the mountains at night, above the river running along between ricefields on this side and cedar covered mountains barely visible under a shy sliver of お月様 (moon) on the other. Seeing the tiny glows of fireflies for the first time and listening to the frogs and cicadas and the repeated sighs of '奇麗’ ('pretty') from Japanese who must experience this every year.
that must have been really beautiful... =)
Ah 'twas Elaine, 'twas. And thanks for popping in.
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