The prince waits

the prince of the gold portal sat cross-legged on a comfortable patch of long grass at the very lip of the glass-clear pond, in which silver and orange carp swam back and forth in idle, silent groups. where was his tea, he wondered? he looked around to see whether the servants were arriving with the longed-for cup of steaming liquid. dipping his fingers languidly into the cool pond, he delicately plucked out an oval-shaped purple leaf with fine-toothed edges, then let it drop so he could capture a newer one, a larger, brilliantly red leaf whose crinkled surface curled like the palm of a hand. behind him, at the edge of the wide, sloping lawn, the tall, green fronds of bamboo waved, as mild as grazing sheep, and the politely clicking melody of wooden wind chimes wafted from the weathered pine balcony of his twelve-bedroom cottage. he would write a poem, he decided, for the leaf-watching festival, the emperor’s favorite week of the year. a poem, perhaps about the bare slopes of mount atu, and a lone climber struggling up the mountainside as a late spring snow began to cover his shoulders. i am that climber, he thought, remembering the recent power struggles at the palace. all the nobles and royals of the court would be present at the poetry reading contest, returning from their summer retreats to begin the excitement of the new social season. cranes would fly picturesquely across the face of the full moon; toy paper boats carrying small-flamed candles would drift like glad-eyed children on the palace’s artificial lake. sighing with expectation, the prince inhaled deeply the thin, tickling tang of pine-needle incense. yes, the emperor would approve of his poem, and perhaps grant him an honor such as the green sash of the keeper of the park! our civilization, the prince thought, has reached a glorious peak.