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My Kyoto memories are made of these

An aging geisha and her samisen

Young geishas in kimono worn over geta, clip-clopping, clacking over tatami

barefoot, cautious footfalls on ancient floors of golden temples with a thousand

stories of shoguns and samurai and the bravery of glistening katana

cherry blossoms in the spring,  the palette of  leaves changing colors in the fall

the chatter of school children off the train and  the silence of polite crew of the shinkansen

In my yukata, I revel in the quiet of my hotel room, I go about my quotidian rhythms  on soft toilet seats,  and ofuro

Hai , my memories of Kyoto are made of these

Domo arigato gozaimasu