Kwai Chang Caine (i_am_caine) wrote in areaic, @ 2015-11-28 05:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | !tread/log, kwai chang caine, maria deluca |
Who: Caine and Maria
When: Morning
Where: Park
What: Walking and playing the flute
Rating: Low
Status: In progress
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Caine had woken early as he had often done usually. The day had always begun with an hour or two with meditation. It was good to clear the mind of excess thoughts left over from the night before, to allow him to approach the day with peace and clarity. It was a routine activity he had always dine before heading off to his work day at the veterinary clinic. However, this was a day he had free for the most part. He decided to spend some of that time walking around the town. It'd be good exercise before doing a few repetitions of kung fu training. So he dressed in his usual brown slacks and shirt, shoes, blue hat, and tan jacket, now leaving his townhouse.
This was one of his favorite parts of the day. Exploring the community that existed here, breathing fresh air, taking in all the interesting sights, occasionally coming across people now and then. He would also need to do some herb shopping, as well as getting an extra candle or two. As he walked, he remembered the recent Thanksgiving dinner. That had been wonderful and he'd fully enjoyed that occasion. And he had also partaken of cooking some of the food that was served, particularly rice. Along with that talking of thanks. He had much to have been thankful for, finding his son after so many years, having the friends he did back home, discovering his father, and helping the Chinatown district many times back home as well. He might possibly have shared a story or two from his temple days.
He eventually wandered into the park area, letting out a breath as he sat down on a bench. He had closed his eyes for a few moments. Just listening to his surroundings, the feel of morning sunlight, breathing. He sighed contentedly as he then looked with open eyes, opening the knapsack he often carried with him. He felt a need to play one of his various flutes, which he did on occasion. Partly for musical interest, though usually it was done with meditation purposes. After a brief pause, he had decided on the wooden one. That flute in particular was one he had made himself years ago, a combination of fire, bamboo, smoke, and heat. He put it to his lips now and blew through it. His fingers then touched and cascaded over one or a few of the flute's holes now and then, listening to the music as he played. It had a bit of calming effect around him, while also possessing a certain skill in its melody.