The temple roof rises in layered arcs, dark wood lifting into the pale sky. It looks built to hold time—each beam fitted and weathered, each edge finished with a careful flourish. Standing there, you can’t help but feel how a place like this keeps its own quiet record, the way old houses do, by simply remaining.
Angel had another Great Fortune.
I like the phrase because it doesn’t sound like winning. It sounds like noticing. Like the small, ordinary turn of a day becoming something you can carry in your pocket. A fortune isn’t always loud; sometimes it’s the moment you look up and realize the world is still full of craft, ritual, and patience.
The ropes and paper streamers hang along the front, a gentle boundary between the outside noise and whatever calm you’re meant to step into. Even if you don’t understand every symbol, you understand the feeling: you’ve arrived somewhere that asks you to slow down.
Maybe that’s the best kind of luck—finding a place that makes you listen. One world pressing softly against another, and you standing in the seam between them, grateful for what you almost missed.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.