Short story "Colorless Flower"

Short story "Colorless Flower"

On a foggy morning in Sagano, Kyoto, dyer Kanon visits an old temple carrying a white wedding kimono. She has just one request: "I want you to dye the sky."

The temple garden was silent, as if refusing to let any color seep through. The autumn leaves had already fallen, the moss was asleep, and only the wind was passing by. Welcoming us was an unnamed old monk, Byakuren. He spoke little, simply sweeping the garden.

"Color is not something you can see with your eyes"
Byakuren's voice was as light as the wind.

Although hesitant, Kanon decides to stay at the temple. She is a person who searches for color. The depth of indigo, the warmth of crimson, the lingering aftertaste of ink—by imbuing these colors into fabric, she has dyed people's memories.

But this temple had no color. Or rather, I couldn't "see" color.
One night, Kanon has a dream. In the dream, the wind speaks.

"Color is the memory of the sky. The sky is the blank space of color."

When she wakes up in the morning, she picks up fallen leaves in the garden and collects raindrops. Without using dyes, she simply lets the time and silence of nature soak into the fabric. The fabric can be any color, or no color at all. It changes with the angle of the light and sways in the viewer's heart.

Byakuren looked at the cloth and smiled.

"This is a colorless flower. Emptiness is color."

For the first time, Kanon learned to "hear" colors rather than "see" them.
The cloth was displayed in the WABISUKE tea room, and all visitors asked about the color.
And everyone talks about different colors.