The Tortoise and the Hare

For me, doing flower work, going to the flower market to buy flowers has become one of my pleasures.

Because the smiles of the fellows working at the market—full of life from early morning—their spirited greetings, and their brisk movements blow away yesterday’s fatigue and give me energy.

And a great variety of seasonal flowers greet me, as if to say, “Take me home with you.”

In such an environment, I have a temperament ill-suited to commerce: I end up impulse-buying flowers beyond the ones I actually want to use in my works.

Back at the workplace from the market, it’s still only half past eight in the morning; parting the waves of drowsy-faced people now heading to their offices, in the crisp mood of having finished a job, I carry the flowers into the workshop, steep myself in a sense of superiority, and feel keenly that “the early bird catches three mon’s worth.”

But come twilight, my eyes start to grow bleary and I yawn—I’m still a half-baked fellow, short on fighting spirit.