I watch an old lady as she slowly makes her way through the various stalls at the antique fair. And although she drifts through the line, she can't resist the Siren's call of one particular merchant. At least seven times she approaches, then walks away. Approaches and walks away. Approaches...walks away. Like Daruma; seven times down, eight times up. I feel the wind, and hear the sound of traffic. It is only that, along with the old lady. The three move in concert, one never more overpowering than the others. She is bent deeply at the waist, as if unfathomable amounts of heavy loads have been carried across her back.
I lower my head and bow to her effort. By the time I raise my head, she is gone.
Then it is just wind and sound.
Nothing is as constant as the wind, the sound, and the old lady. Not even Takuin, as he is not present as thought, but present only as the sensation of the cold metal seat he sits upon.
That is the way of life. For a brief, brilliant moment, we will be seen, and that moment is beautifully fleeting. Sometime soon, we will all disappear, never to be seen again. Then it is just wind and sound.
Equally as beautiful.