A small event I experienced: As I was on my way to the animal shelter early in the morning, I passed a mother and young son going in the opposite direction. The mother, a determined figure, the boy around eleven or twelve years old, holding a brown chicken to his chest. The chicken, comfortable and safe, the boy stroking her body, head and brown feathers tenderly, the chicken loving him back. In sharp contrast to this was the rest of the boy’s body: taut, stressed, full of pain, his head high up, being brave!
As I suspected the inevitable, I asked the driver about it. He said, “Yes, yes, down at the riverside is a small temple. The priest there will cut her throat”! How many friends he loved? How many he lost? — Clementien (Note: I did not take a photo, this one is just a general one from online.)