ABSTRACT
Dawn sprinkled the alleys of Nara with pink splashes of colour. A fragrant smell emanated from the pines. The ground was littered with small crinkled objects resembling dried leaves. These were uzumi, or the empty shells of cicadae. Everyone knows that in autumn Japanese cicadae throw off their light shells just as they would discard a faded garment. Poets see in these fragile empty envelopes an image of life. I thought of the tiercet by the poet Jōsō: “Oh
the autumn cicadae, dead beside its empty shell!” Sadness. Smiling nihility.
