A Small Shrine

A small shrine is nestled in my grandfather's mountain, now owned by my uncle, which seems to have been built by someone who had the same surname. His name is carved in the stone shrine. We guess it's our ancestor, but we don't know who he was. He must had built this to dedicate to a nature god of the mountain. Every time before we took bamboo shoots here, we visited the shrine and offered a glass of water.

My grandfather especially loved this place very much. We visited this house several times a year, when I was a child. We enjoyed BBQ and fireworks during the summer. While we were absent, it seemed many animals visited the garden such as snakes and boars. Also there were fruit trees, and we harvested them.

My grandfather was a lovely man who had a child-mind and often dug a hole here and there to find a treasure. He had believed that there was a treasure under the ground, and had a map, but nobody knew about it after he died. Also there is a rumour that my grandfather had a conflict with a neighbour over the ownership of the mountain and once he was nearly killed by an axe. He was OK but the conflict lasted until both died.

Everything is history now. The house has been quiet and empty even in the summer. The garden has been covered by thick weeds, and the house has rusted. Once we had an idea to run B&B there, but everybody was indisposed.

But the small shrine is still there, the same as before. Only it knows everything which we don't know. It has kept watching everything there. Sometimes I still miss my grandfather very much. I wanted to learn more from him.