I gaze at the kiln, mesmerized, imagining the sight of my ceramic pieces being seared inside. As the temperature of the kiln soars past 1000 degrees celcius, I notice something strange. The flaming tongues of this fire-breathing dragon are thrashing wildly out of the small opening, and as I step closer, I realize to my amazement that the flame is a brilliant green. I have never in my life seen a green fire. Green like the new shoots in spring; green like new grass after the summer’s rain; green like precious emerald. Burn on, strange fire – work your magic on my clay.
My arms are aching after hours of wheel practice, so I decide to take a rest and go to the Mino Ceramic Park for the sunset. I have only three sunsets left in Tajimi and I want to savor every moment!
The lovely park sits quietly on the hillside behind the musuem. I am the only person around, and so I take my time to stroll and enjoy the cool spring breeze.
With the sun hanging low, I find a nice spot at the observatory tower and wait.
I can’t help but feel a rush of mixed emotions at this point. I long very much to return home but I am also very reluctant to leave this beautiful city with its beautiful flowers and equally beautiful people. Still, I know in my heart that I must embrace such endings, because the transience of all these encounters and experiences is part of what makes them beautiful and precious. And I’d much rather remember all the happiness than dwell on the loss!
As I cycle back to the studio, I go slowly, letting my eyes soak in the remnant light.
Just before I reach the studio, the fire of the sun breathes out the sweetest pink, as if heaving a gentle yawn before it retires for the night.
The sky is not always blue.
And sometimes, a fire can be green too.