Past tense

Back to Uji.  A pleasant Autumn afternoon, windows open.  The river's wrinkles burn a bright gold and white in the sun, already in its descent.  Shadows stretch across the tatami mats.  The waiter looks like a movie star from another era with his neat moustache.   Two old women talk in hushed tones, almost whispering.  Kansai secrets.  A bumblebee bumps into the window; a dragonfly alights on the fence.  My heartbeat slows.  There is a different pace here, a different volume.  Everything more fluid, more graceful.

One must return to the past from time to time.

I remember Japan.