Dear deer,
It was 6 March 2020, 8.00 am, when I woke up in Nara, Japan to listen to your wake-up call. I headed to Tobihino in Nara Park, where acorns and the sound of the French horn wait for you every winter’s morning since 1892. It’s a pastoral scene, yet I still find it puzzling why Beethoven’s 6th Symphony (the ‘Pastoral) is a song of choice. Landscape awakens, yet soft grassy meadows and ancient cedar trees stand in stark opposition to the Austrian countryside, the fields that Beethoven traversed and the landscapes that feel closer to my home. But you grew up in Japan, and as a sacred animal and messenger of the Shinto gods, stayed close to sites of worship. This, for you, is merely a winter alarm ringtone before breakfast. Perhaps you cannot stand the sound of it outside those brief morning moments, and the sound of the French horn sends shivers down your spine. Perhaps it needs to feel out of place and hard to adopt – after all, its purpose is to disturb, to awaken.
But this morning you weren’t there, and neither was the French horn. Vast and sunny grassy Tobihino meadow waited empty. Knowing about Japanese punctuality (and morning hunger), I knew there must have been a very good reason behind your absence. Next to one of the paths leading to the nearby forest stood a big white sign. It was far, but despite my myopia the arrangement of letters was familiar and easy to recognize. It read Covid-19.
Now I read you hit the streets. You abandoned (or rather, were forced out of) your natural habitat in search for food. With neither fresh grass, morning acorns, nor tourists’ rice crackers at your disposal, you ventured out of the parks and forests to parking lots, backstreets, roundabouts, train and subway stations. You nibble on potted plants, linger around trash cans and race Nara’s streets. Experts claim this is not the first time you actively participate in city life, yet this time the city itself is dramatically different. Empty and seemingly devoid of human life, it painstakingly tries to accept the changing world and prepare for the uncertainties that await. But you roam free, seeing us behind windows and walls gives you all the freedom.
Take care,
Barbara
It was 6 March 2020, 8.00 am, when I woke up in Nara, Japan to listen to your wake-up call. I headed to Tobihino in Nara Park, where acorns and the sound of the French horn wait for you every winter’s morning since 1892. It’s a pastoral scene, yet I still find it puzzling why Beethoven’s 6th Symphony (the ‘Pastoral) is a song of choice. Landscape awakens, yet soft grassy meadows and ancient cedar trees stand in stark opposition to the Austrian countryside, the fields that Beethoven traversed and the landscapes that feel closer to my home. But you grew up in Japan, and as a sacred animal and messenger of the Shinto gods, stayed close to sites of worship. This, for you, is merely a winter alarm ringtone before breakfast. Perhaps you cannot stand the sound of it outside those brief morning moments, and the sound of the French horn sends shivers down your spine. Perhaps it needs to feel out of place and hard to adopt – after all, its purpose is to disturb, to awaken.
But this morning you weren’t there, and neither was the French horn. Vast and sunny grassy Tobihino meadow waited empty. Knowing about Japanese punctuality (and morning hunger), I knew there must have been a very good reason behind your absence. Next to one of the paths leading to the nearby forest stood a big white sign. It was far, but despite my myopia the arrangement of letters was familiar and easy to recognize. It read Covid-19.
Now I read you hit the streets. You abandoned (or rather, were forced out of) your natural habitat in search for food. With neither fresh grass, morning acorns, nor tourists’ rice crackers at your disposal, you ventured out of the parks and forests to parking lots, backstreets, roundabouts, train and subway stations. You nibble on potted plants, linger around trash cans and race Nara’s streets. Experts claim this is not the first time you actively participate in city life, yet this time the city itself is dramatically different. Empty and seemingly devoid of human life, it painstakingly tries to accept the changing world and prepare for the uncertainties that await. But you roam free, seeing us behind windows and walls gives you all the freedom.
Take care,
Barbara
