The things you remember about a person when they’re gone are funny. No two people will feel the same way, though usually it has to do with scent, or expression, the sound of a voice, an unusual gesture.
For me, I can still see the colors of Keiko; the black of her hair against creamy pale skin, her dark blue kimono with white circles, the deep orange persimmons falling from the brown basket she carried.
The ache in my heart grows larger every time I think of these colors, and how as each day passes they continue to fade from my eyes.
The Samurai’s Garden
The Samurai’s Garden is “a graceful and moving novel about goodness and beauty” (Booklist). On the eve of World War II, a young Chinese man travels to a small village on the coast of Japan to recuperate from illness, and encounters a small cast of powerful characters, a deep sense of place, the flow of the seasons, and the turbulence of emotions. Like a Japanese garden, the path this novel leads you down may seem to be simple, but the techniques of creating shapes, obstacles, and openings, and moving you through them, are based on careful methods of selection and pruning. The Samurai’s Garden is an unforgettable read, delivered by a gifted storyteller.