A Walk Through Valley of the Temples

Walking through this desolate and bleak space, treading through the deadened grass, I’m captured by the warmth of a collage of quilted flowers. Red, yellow, and violet violently clash, creating beautiful streams of color that thaw my stolid face.

The marble stones whisper as soft as sea foam: “Miyamoto, 51,” “Kim, 62,” and “Takao, 3.”

A white bench rests in the distance. Below, fallen orchid petals dance in the air to a symphony of windless music.

I sit. The hard bench touching my skin sends warm waves against my boulder heart. The memories of this place could fill an ocean.