A clear spring day in Kamakura, perfect for cherry blossom viewing.
It had been a long time since we last invited guests to our home.
Before the pandemic, we used to do this from time to time, but those opportunities had quietly disappeared.
We walked together from the station, stopping by a few well-known spots to enjoy the blossoms, and then made our way home at an easy pace. There, we shared the wine and snacks everyone had kindly brought, and spent the afternoon in relaxed conversation.
Our guests were not current members of our department, but former colleagues—senior and junior alike—from the pathology world. In other words, a group of familiar faces, and, perhaps more accurately, a group of rather strong drinkers.
Some are now busy as university professors, while others have stepped away from full-time work and are taking life more slowly. Each has chosen a different path.
Even so, having all once chosen the rather specialized field of pathology, conversation flowed naturally, and time seemed to pass almost too quickly.
Before we realized it, evening had fallen. We walked them back to the station, enjoying the night blossoms along the way.
Spending such a gentle time with gentle people, I found myself quietly feeling that this, too, is a kind of happiness.
A quiet gathering can sometimes say more than a celebration.
