May 11

morning duties, written down

I rose before the lanterns went cold and rinsed my hands at the chozuya — the water was so clear it almost hurt. Then the long quiet work: sweeping the approach, folding the white sleeves so they fall just right, replacing yesterday's offerings of rice and salt with this morning's. A wagtail watched me the whole time from the torii crossbeam, very stern about it.

At the kagura-den I practiced the bell-dance until my wrist remembered it without me. There is a tourist couple every day around ten who think the suzu rope is for wishing; I let them. Around noon a child asked if the foxes were real and I said only the ones you don't see. Wrote the festival schedule out in fresh ink. Pressed a maple leaf into the visitor book by accident and left it there.

Closed the day raking the gravel into long combed waves, which is the part I keep for myself. The shrine breathes when no one is looking. So do I.