attention. That day in Koito’s garden room, not being critiqued, for the first time I felt while performing temae something of the solemnity and grace that I felt watching it. I felt the austere precision of the choreography, and my voluptuous surrender to it. I felt the desire to give something precious, this bowl of tea. I felt this one moment in all the world, three women in a room, doors thrown back to the bright day, the drunk bees in the purple flowers. I felt the alchemy of food made flesh. We were candles that burned on rice and salt.
