ho-ren-k-y-y-o-o-o

Updated: May 25, 2025

"Gray, splintered stalagmites of memory," he had called them, and when the child Umé had learned the meaning of the simile she had put her little finger to a spot of lichen and asked, "Then are these silver spots our tears?" The old man stepped down very softly to the second tier. A nightingale was calling low its liquid invocation, "Ho-ren-k-y-y-o-o-o!"

Mary McNeil Fenollosa - The Dragon Painter