I dropped in my wife’s parents’ house to pray for my father in law, who passed away this year. I am not sure whether the verb, pray, is suitable to express the way Buddhists reflect on ancestors. People who died come back home for several days to stay with us. That’s an idea. I do not know exactly what they do because I am Catholic. I was even puzzled to know that they go excursion to China/India before they went back to … heaven? Never mind. I believe he, my father in law, is walking in a valley, reflecting upon his life. Do you know the last piece of Miroirs by Ravel, titled La vallée des cloches? The music reminds me of the afterlife. I imagine he is sitting in the valley, watching the sunset on the mountains covered with snow. The complete silence. A moment everything is burnt red by the sun sinking.

The pond is covered by weeds. I wondered if the rent-a-boat shop had been closed.

We have not yet built a tomb for him. Maybe, some day in near future.

Life as usual