and where the name comes from...  

wind_up_bird01 48M
465 posts
1/31/2006 10:46 pm

Last Read:
4/10/2006 8:29 am

and where the name comes from...

The Wind-up Bird Chronicles - Haruki Murakami

I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then out to the veranda to look at the cat's dish. The mound of sardines was untouched from last night. No, the cat had not come back. I stood there looking at our samll garden, with the early-summer sunlight streaming into it. Not that ours was the kind of garden that gives you spiritual solace to look at. The sun managed to find its way in there for the smallest fraction of each day, so the earth was always moist and black, and all we had by the way of garden plant was a few drab hydrangeas in one corner- and I don't like hydrangeas. There was a small strand of trees nearby, and from it you could hear the mechanical cry of a bird that sounded as if it was winding a spring. We called it the wind-up bird. Kumiko gave it that name. We didn't know what it was called, or what it looked like, but that didn't bother the wind-up bird. Every day it would come to the strand of trees in our neighborhood, and wind the spring of our quiet little world.

__Huntress__ 56M/59F

2/10/2006 9:47 pm

What a world you have opened up for me ... how can I ever thank you, Wind Up Bird ... ?


__Huntress__ 56M/59F

2/26/2006 4:45 am

I was given a rather generous gift certificate for my favorite bookstore on Friday ... this little place, on Friday nights, has a cafe and brings in local talent to play ... on this night there was a sole performer who played an Irish harp ... an instrument that plucks my heartstrings like no other ... call it an ancient memory ... perhaps my soul has lived before ... there is no rhyme or reason for why it touches me so ...

My children were with me ... after much prodding and direction, they have learned to enjoy the sanctity of reading as much as I did when I was their age ...

Each child selected a sketchbook ... they asked me what it was they could give me for my birthday ... I told them each to fill the pages of the sketchbook ... draw or write ... it doesn't matter ... but fill it and when complete ... give it back to me ...

When I was growing up, I had only two things that removed me from the absolute chaos within my home ... my writing and my books ... and still, today, I am a voracious reader ... so

this is what was placed within my basket:

Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong
The Secret Life of Laszlo, Count Dracula by Roderick Anscombe
The Cinnamon Peeler by Michael Ondaatje
The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

and last ... but not least ... a red leather bound notebook so that I can begin to print what I've written here ...

I've lived long enough to sense the turning of the wind ... I hear the strumming of those ancient strings, the ringing bell sound of my children's laughter and the distant echo of a stranger who seems to say to me ... "walk this time with the wind and follow where it leads ... do not walk ahead of it nor should you fall behind ... walk instead inside of it ... it will carry you ... and you will fly ... "

Now, you know, what your gift has been ...


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