Limitless 'Kuukan'

Ama sees Kioto with her mind’s eye, scurrying above snow-clad mountains, through flickering islets of light.

“Was he really able to fly, Miko-san?” Little girl in-wove a question.

“In a way, yes, Ama-chan. His agile mind could soar far and wide, wherever he wished for.”

“I would love to be like him,” Ama put herself into a dreamy mood. “But, grandma, my head is probably too heavy, to soar.” A blur of doubt shook her little body.

Miko-san’s laughter trickled with a warm stream through the shell of Ama’s ear, straight to her heart. “It’s certainly not, my child.” Grandma ruffled anyway tousled hair on little head. “Kioto thought of Aika as if she was his ‘limitless expanses’,” continued Miko-san.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Ama scratched her little head, trying to guess what grandma meant.

“Museign Kuukan” Miko-san repeated, pointing at the sky, cracking with some tremulous streaks of light or higher at the cosmic silence.

“But, How to imagine that, grandma?” Ama gave her hands and feet the once-over. They seemed to be so ‘finite’ to her. She grabbed a tough nut to crack with her milk teeth.

“Close your eyes, nothing can distract you,” Miko-san advised and gently placed her palm on the slender bridge of Ama’s clavicle.

“Nobody noticed when another wanderer stepped into the inn, tucked in a green, velvet cape…”

"Aika loved rain"

Ama’s little hands make a shape of a telescope. She stands on the gravel of the zen rock garden and gazes at the grey sky, heavy with thick, rainy clouds. They almost seem to reach out to little girl’s head filtering in her consciousness with their expanding massiveness.

“It’s surly going to rain, Ama-chan” Miko-san says. A graceful nod suggests, little girl shouldn’t walk away far from home. Today, grandma didn't dress her hair. It tumbles on her strong shoulders as if happy ink, fluid silk released from the ink-bottle. Ama tiptoes trying to immerse her hands in Miko’s hair. Grandma kneels down to make it easier for her. The undertones of memories are visible in Miko’s smile: “Aika loved rain,” she adds. Ama hopes that she can talk her grandma into some stories about her mother.

"Why, grandma? When it rains, no play outdoors."

"Certainly, you need to find out more about the magic of the rain, Ama-chan."

Two Full Moons

Ama lies on her stomach, quietly making her sails ready for the open sea of the dreams. The night swells. She nestles her face against her hands, not far away from the paper sliding door, folded like a fan. Warm lights of the night step into her room. The full moon seems to take possession of a little girl’s figure. Her eyes are lustrous. She gazes at the moon’s crater visage with dreamy admiration. Ama’s mind wanders through the past events. ‘I’d love to see the necklace once again,” she muses. Joy and longing make such a mixture of feelings for her; joy of giving and longing for the mum’s essence enchanted in the necklace. However, there is something mysterious what descends on the silence of the night as if the ring, the bells of the necklace soared gently down. ‘What produces this sound?’ Little girl wonders and dives into darkness of the garden. Then, she looks up; her eyes narrow, startled by the view. Ama rubs them dynamically to improve their vision. Brightening the space up, two moons hang next to each other and scrutinize Ama, suffused with their light. The bells of the necklace die away. Little girl gives a laugh. She is fond of such games. One of the moons seems to be more fluid, animate from within. Its contours arch and flow. Suddenly, there sprout out of the glowing plate a pointed mouth, canoe-shaped eyes, perking ears. Ama recognizes the foxy head. ‘KITSUNE! You can travel high!

There dangles and squirms on its nose something golden, like Ama’s necklace. The magical fox winks at the little girl. And then, unexpectedly the illusion creeps over her making the eyelids heavy. The weird moon lands on them with its unbridled trickiness.

Ama's saying

Love is like blowing about the dandelion's little umbrellas, so easy and fabulous.

Jet-black crows meet the dirt silver fox

The crows make circles around the branches of the camphor tree, as if they moved on one of the orbits of the starry necklace; captured by the gravity of its shine. Ama sleeps calmly, not sensing anything beyond the dreams that dream her. The branch of the camphor tree shakes gently when the crows land fluttering their wings. They’re getting closer to the golden aim. Unaware of anything, the necklace willingly pronounces the syllables of the sudden quivers. And as for the crows, they hop from one leg to the other, moving forward and backwards. It seems to be a mysterious ritual, heading for the final seizure. Then, they nudge the necklace with their beaks, so it rocks as if the boat on the stormy waves, more and more chaotically. ‘The fruit’ succumbs to the beaks of the crows, as their movement intensifies and grows in power.

Unexpectedly, the space of the ritual is disturbed by an annoying sound. It breaks into, as if an intruder who symbolically scratches the beaks with the claws that right now drill the crevices in ‘Mu-san’s bark.

“Krrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaa.” One of the jet-black crows makes a sound of discontentment, tilting its little head. “One of kitsune kind roams over here.” The crows flutter their wings and withdraw. A slender shape, with dirt silver coat, shines warningly. Its reflection spreads out in the pupils of the crows, meaning a threat of being played a trick on. Lingering flutter of the wings finally wakes Ama up. Two crows get away. Ama grabs the necklace bobbing up and down, but unfortunately drops it to the ground. It slowly soars down, bouncing off the branches. Ama sees only the shadow of the necklace when it finally touches the ground. All of a sudden, another shadow appears – slender, moving fast. It lowers its head and catches the necklace with its mouth.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh” Ama recognizes the familiar shadow of the magical fox. “Please, get the necklace back!” she shouts from above, fazed by the unfolding of events. However, the beast disappears into the brightness of the day, somewhere in the deep grass.

Ama's saying

Secrets love to be secretive

A golden necklace of the jade flowers

Ama holds in her little hand a golden necklace that used to belong to her mother. The palm like a heart pulsates, opening and closing. Then, Ama lifts it, full of the warm luster and releases the necklace to swing on one of the branches, brushed by the breeze. At eye level, golden dragonflies swirl, attracted by the cascades of the jade flowers.

‘What do you think of the necklace as a gift for the magical fox?’ Little girl inquires the friend, although the thought of separation with the golden necklace makes her little heart quiver. ‘Mu-san’ rustles an answer by means of its lush foliage. One of the near branches of the camphor tree creaks noisily as if it wanted to reach out and touch the golden treasure.

‘It is said that the jade flowers get even greener if one wears them long enough, close to the body.” Ama shares her knowledge with the friend. ‘Miko-san says jades connect to what is ‘illusive’. Do you maybe know what she means?’ All of a sudden, little girl lets out a gigantic yawn. The noon nap is at her heels, demanding Ama’s attention. She curls up. The necklace seems to twinkle like stars caught in the net of the camphor tree’s presence. The sun’s rays make its goldeness even more alive. Out of nowhere appear the crows, at first curious, then desirous of this starry ‘fruit’.

Ama's advice

"Swing as high as possible. Your feet will finally touch the sky and saturate with the floating clouds."

"You can always figure it out later while playing."

Camphor tree visit

One of the prodigious, evergreen camphor trees is Ama’s friend. It has a pale, rough bark, very pleasant in touch if you don’t mind a little bit of tickles. It grows not far away from Ama’s house, so she can visit it often. Now, in spring, the camphor tree is sprinkled with dozens of little white flowers. Ama smells them often and tries to understand their fragrant language. Everything speaks. Even, does the trunk Ama loves to climb up so much. When she nestles against the camphor tree’s branches she imagines the embrace of her mum’s arms. To release the aromatic presence of the glossy leaves Ama squeezes them gnetly in her hands. Grandma Miko often prepares sweets, adding camphor as a flavor and magical ingredient. It spreads through the house, as the symbolic haze of a bond that links Ama with the old, camphor tree, her confidant. But, little girl knows how to listen too when her friend responds by a subtle gust of wind or by a stray, whirling leaf which finally lands on Ama’s little head with a tender brush.