By Cathy Cawood
One day in the late winter, on my way to Odakyu Machida Station in Tokyo, I decided to take a bus from Tsurukawa Station. I always take the train, but this time I wanted to discover the neighborhood by taking a different route. Thus, I got on a bus.
About fifteen or twenty minutes later, I spotted a park on my right. I got off at the next stop. It was Yakushiike Kouen (薬師池公園 ). I spent about two hours exploring the place. The cherry and the maples trees were leafless.
Last year, in the pouring rain, I visited the place again. I came with a Chinese lady friend; she had a red umbrella. She spoke to a solitary lotus blossom; she asked for blessings. She wanted to get a good job.
How fascinating it is to watch the rain transform everything it touches into a thing of deeper beauty. Every drop of rain is a momentary jewel, one teardrop.
Find out more about Yakushi-ike Park.
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I have a little garden: slightly bigger than the forehead of a cat. I grow herbs: parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, and mint, and lemon grass, and lavender, and basil. Occasionally, I cook for myself. Sometimes, my Japanese wife and my daughter like my cooking. I come from the Philippines – it is said that there are more than seven thousand islands but I do not own one. I’d love to, though. I always carry a camera with me – in my walks, journeys, and wanderings. Most of the time, I’m home – staring at Fujisan and writing something.