The autumn scent was prominent in the air around me, I took a deep breath, inhaling the falling of dried leaves in the vicinity of golden brown. My katana was thirsty for training, and to smell the autumn. I unsheathed it, letting a few falling leaves tender my skin, and the katana.
Stance ready, I weaved myself deftly across the field of golden brown, piles of dried leaves burst into a cyclone of hues filled with the genesis of autumn. The leaves danced with me and my katana, mantling us with an elegant waning insipid brownness, funneling my training into an ethereal mix with nature.
I swung my katana to slice the leaves in mid air into perfect half, but all of them crumbled into cremains. Dissatisfaction brewed in me. Not even a single leaf was split into a perfect half. I marched into another patch of dried leaves, repeated, and failed.
My cognition was impaired with my impatience and my failure. I was desperate to get this right, I was stuck on this for a couple of weeks, every day was just a rehash of yesterday’s, I was flabbergasted. My hand sent the katana flying, stabbing a trunk of a tree, half of it sunk into the tree, piercing a wild gash into it.
As I picked up my katana, I noticed there was a half sliced dried leaf on it, the other half was swinging its way down. A moment of truth shone into my exasperation, I kept my composure, I was repeating my wrong moves, the swings which could not cut as I wanted it to, I was too closed minded, there’s a million ways to swing a sword, why stick to only one style? A sagacious voice rang inside me.
Another round of leaves swirled in the air. I swiveled myself in circles, jabbing the air multiple times, just to see only half-trimmed leaves falling unto the ground.