Voyage of the Storm
HIS ART WAS THE ART of Seeing. Without camouflage. Extraneous elements removed. A grain of sand suggested the universe. The center held everything. All else was illusion.
Akiro placed a single sprig from the katsura tree outside into a black bowl on the lacquered wooden table before him. Autumn was still several weeks away, so the leaves contained only a slight hint of the lush purple they would turn. His ancient eyes studied the sprig till he was lost in it.