Yesterday, 2-year-old Kaya and 63-year-old I, hand in hand, went out early in the morning to find a little Christmas tree somewhere up in the forests on this Shinto-country mountain with its Buddhist name.
Along the way Kaya picked up and discarded several sticks she at first found appealing but that on closer examination were found to be lacking in some quality essential to her collection.
On the way, we walked to the pond, which was still as glass and filled with morning sky ringed with cedars.
Kaya stood at the shore and looked at it all long and hard, as only a two-year-old can who is busy filling up with everything in the world.
I could tell that as a city girl she was impressed by the space and by the no-one-aroundness.
Further up along the road, in an untended copse crowded with opportunistic trees, we found a nice little evergreen that was just Kaya's size.
We took the tree home, put it in a bucket filled with sand and decorated it with ribbons and bells and holly leaves, red berries, pine cones and little toys and ornaments from old Christmases.
Kaya clapped her hands.
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