ネイティブが教える英会話のジェムスクール☆Teachers☆

Last week, I finally decided to pay a visit to the Shinto shrine that I pass whenever I go to work in Niihama. I’ve used it as a landmark to get home many times, and when I pass I always look up at the tree-shadowed gate, two solid stone posts strung together with slender rope. I walked through the gate and reached a short path lined with trees, and guarded at the end by snarling stone guardians. I wasn’t sure if they were dogs or lions, but they were beautiful, and I took their picture. Alongside the path was a stone horse carved in mid-gallop. A railing surrounded the statue, destroying the illusion of motion. This puzzled me, but I soon moved on. As I entered the shrine proper, I passed several buildings. The main shrine was sequestered by a construction barrier, but three smaller buildings that looked like tiny wooden houses on stone platforms were lined up in a neat little row. Further into the shrine, I found a board covered with small wooden plaques. I’m nearly certain that these were prayers, and I wondered briefly what the other visitors of the shrine have asked for. Then, looking beyond the prayer board, I saw a bright splash of color. Most of structures in the shrine are made of wood and stone, and have the earthen hues of those materials. But in the back was a red Torii gate. It’s as dazzling as love and audacious as luck. A blaze against the backdrop of the trees, but one that is contained and welcoming, forged into the strong, graceful lines of the gate. I smiled, and let the image of the red gate in dappled sunlight burn into my memory. When I left the shrine some minutes later, I was steadier and at peace.