Let me tell you about my home
I live in an older house on the side of a mountain. The house is made of wood, with many trees around me and outside my window. I think this weekend I finally moved from still unpacking to normal messy, so I can tell you a little bit more about my new place.
Even though it is the Gion festival, which is supposed to mark the end of the rainy season in Kyoto, there is a downpour pattering on my roof and thrushing against the leaves outside my window. It is wonderful to listen to. The house makes me feel relaxed and safe, and is becoming home faster than any other place I've ever moved into. On my days off I find myself not wanting to leave the house. The peacefulness and the quiet are so nice, I'd rather stay comfortable in my wooden nest. I think it is no accident that I find myself both reading and listening to classical music much more.
I've felt two tremors in the three weeks I've been here; that is as many as I noticed in the concrete apartment block I lived in the last one and a half years. They are too gentle to be scary, if nothing else they make me feel even more connected to the piece of land I'm living on.
My roommate and I seem to be getting along well. I certainly enjoy talking with her before she goes to bed in the evenings and she makes a good drinking buddy too. Yesterday we washed a wall together which I thought was a lark.
I can buy very good bread, cheese and wine by just strolling down the hill, and the bike ride to work, while long (16.5 km one way), lets me go along the path next to the Kamogawa river for several kilometers, which has been especially fun with the recent bumper crop of puddles to splash in.
Finally I am very close to Shugakuin, where every full moon, and several of other times besides, I can climb up into the woods to drum and jump about in probably the closest approximation Japan has to Montreal's Tams.
I have never felt that I am particularly likely to ever obtain happiness, that is the priviledge of the incredibly fortunate and naive. However, these new surroundings go a long way towards contentment
Goodnight,
Shade
Even though it is the Gion festival, which is supposed to mark the end of the rainy season in Kyoto, there is a downpour pattering on my roof and thrushing against the leaves outside my window. It is wonderful to listen to. The house makes me feel relaxed and safe, and is becoming home faster than any other place I've ever moved into. On my days off I find myself not wanting to leave the house. The peacefulness and the quiet are so nice, I'd rather stay comfortable in my wooden nest. I think it is no accident that I find myself both reading and listening to classical music much more.
I've felt two tremors in the three weeks I've been here; that is as many as I noticed in the concrete apartment block I lived in the last one and a half years. They are too gentle to be scary, if nothing else they make me feel even more connected to the piece of land I'm living on.
My roommate and I seem to be getting along well. I certainly enjoy talking with her before she goes to bed in the evenings and she makes a good drinking buddy too. Yesterday we washed a wall together which I thought was a lark.
I can buy very good bread, cheese and wine by just strolling down the hill, and the bike ride to work, while long (16.5 km one way), lets me go along the path next to the Kamogawa river for several kilometers, which has been especially fun with the recent bumper crop of puddles to splash in.
Finally I am very close to Shugakuin, where every full moon, and several of other times besides, I can climb up into the woods to drum and jump about in probably the closest approximation Japan has to Montreal's Tams.
I have never felt that I am particularly likely to ever obtain happiness, that is the priviledge of the incredibly fortunate and naive. However, these new surroundings go a long way towards contentment
Goodnight,
Shade