A Little Kyudo

On Wednesday, I was invited to visit the kyudo, Japanese archery, dojo at the junior high school where I work. It was pretty amazing. The kids are so disciplined. They cleaned the dojo before and after practice, bent over and pushing wet towels across the floor like Chihiro in Spirited Away. When they practiced, five students lined up to hit a 38 centimeter target a good distance away. Form is more important than hitting the target. They all took the same wide stance, silently raised their bows, drew them back halfway, then paused, then all the way. Then fired. They did it while holding their next arrow in the same hand that drew back the string. After their second arrow, they would all gracefully bend down to pick up their third arrow without bending their knees.

They kept their faces expressionless the whole time they were doing this. This was especially impressive since most of the club members are girls, ages 13 to 15, who compulsively giggle quite a bit. They didn't even react when they hit the target. The only thing that happened when the targets were hit was that scattered spectators said, "Sa!" and one student wrote down the score on a little table. I sat watching them for about three hours, it was terrific.

Twitter Sonnet #1453

Forgotten faces fade behind the plastic mask.
Impressions linger past the coiled smoke.
We step aboard the dismal, circle task.
The answer came behind a harmless stroke.
We make a head to stop the body's gain.
The wider neck succeeds the turtle wool.
We carry zombie books to please the brain,
And here the base was sunk beneath the school.
From Swiss to cheddar, cheese was named in books.
Collapsing ladders told a climbing tale.
There's more to shiny glass than shattered looks.
A certain word would never burn the veil.
The sharpest voice arose above the dull.
We crammed a brain to fit the thimble skull.