Sweet Perfume
In Hue, along the banks of the Perfume River, where the French once commissioned the construction of a mansion for its Resident Superieure, I lie poolside, looking up at a silver-streaked September sky. A tropical breeze gently jostles the palms and frangipanis and orange trees that surround the perimeter. The sound of traditional Vietnamese music ( nha nhac ) is faint; it could be coming from the Citadel, just across the river. Birds chirp. The pool's salt water filters. A bus horn blares once, then twice. Five o'clock draws near. In a month, the rains will come, and that river will rise, maybe even over the banks. Eventually, unfortunately, I will rise, as well. But not just yet. Like one of Hue's most revered monks once said, 'If you want to live fully, you have to live slowly.' And I'm feeling that.