Kyoto in Spring

"We never choose anything at all. Things happen. Or not." - Haruki Murakami

It was a sky blue day in March.

After buying postcards at an arts and crafts shop along The Philosopher's Walk, the owner asked me to have a seat and choose more postcards as her gifts for me. I happily obliged and we proceeded to talk about which shrines and temples I should visit next.

When I got up from the chair I saw that my menstrual blood had seeped through the cushion perched on it. I apologized profusely for what I did to her cushion (maybe I should have apologized on my period's behalf, I believe it is a force of its own and deserves its own identity). She kept saying that it's ok and ushered me to the bathroom to clean up.

When I emerged from the bathroom she gave me a new pair of leggings in case my period gets out of control again when I am on the road. I told her to keep it, thanked her for being so nice, and bid her good day. She waved goodbye until I disappeared from the horizon.

The postcards that are gifts from the store owner are of geishas just like her - beautiful with impeccable manners, butterfly delicate, a flicker of hope in a dark world.